


Aristocats' Class and a Street Cat's Style

by skimmingthesurface, SylviaW1991



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Aristocats (1970) Fusion, Attempted cat murder, Cats, Disney-style, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Listen we just really wanted to write about cats, M/M, Minor cat peril as per Disney's brand, Prejudice against black cats, The Butler Did It, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28896744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: Aziraphale is a pampered, well-loved housecat who's become papa to a host of abandoned kittens. In the course of teaching them how to be proper ladies and gentlemen, they and their owner fail to notice their butler's mounting jealousy.Though his full plan is foiled, the cats find themselves lost in the countryside, far from home. Luckily Anthony J. Crowley isn't the sort of alley cat scary stories are made of. He's happy to get them home. After all, how could he possibly resist eyes that sparkle like sapphires?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 106
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Syl  
> We may or may not have started this in December 2019, way back when I was first getting into the fandom. But it's all finished now 🥰
> 
> Skim  
> We also may or may not have written the majority of it while watching The Aristocats on repeat for at least four days. We watched other things too, but it was a lot of Aristocats, which I can't even be upset about. I did that as a kid, too.

The open carriage rattled down London's streets, far more classic than the new motorized things on wheels. Well, new- _ish._ They were slowly taking over, but it didn't stop Madame Tracy from enjoying her horse-drawn carriage. Her or her cats. The four kittens were still new, found abandoned by the side of the road at an age where they still needed a mother's milk. She'd taken them all home over her butler's objections and had bottle fed them all. 

Thankfully, her old white cat had been a perfect angel with them. A lovely little father, despite the surprise. He was perched next to her, blue eyes following the trails of the three more rambunctious kittens. The little tuxedo boy preferred the safety of Madame Tracy's lap. She scooped him up, letting him rub against her cheek. “Oh, Wensleydale, you're turning into such a little gentleman. Isn't he, Mr. Aziraphale?” 

She scratched him behind the ear, laughing when she noticed two of the kittens playing on her butler's shoulders. “Gabriel, you've become a playground, haven't you?” 

He managed a smile, removing fluffy-furred tortoiseshell Pepper and cream-colored, zebra-striped Brian from either shoulder to set them on the bench beside him. They ended up right back up, tiny claws pricking at his clothes, within seconds. But their home was thankfully in sight. 

“What's young Adam up to?” she asked, peering around the butler to watch the golden brown kitten playing on her old horse's back. “Keep an eye on him, Gabriel. Mischievous little boy.” There was laughter in the scold, though. Having four tumbling kittens around made her feel young again, even though she knew her knees weren't quite what they were. The reminder came when the carriage stopped and she rose, legs a little stiff as she made her way out. 

Gabriel helped her down, presenting a box containing her newest wig purchase. “Here, Madame.” 

“Thank you. I'll go upstairs and put this away before our guest arrives.” 

“Guest?” 

“Oh, Gabriel, silly me. Mr. S! He's coming for some business and a bit of dinner. You remember Mr. S, don't you?” 

His smile was tight. Her old solicitor and even older, er, friend was rather unforgettable. “Of course.” 

“Of course,” she echoed, patting his cheek. “Now you just send him right up when he gets here. There's a love.” 

She walked inside as Aziraphale leapt down from the carriage with ease. Little Wensleydale paced, not quite sure about following. “Actually, papa, I think I should stay here.” 

“Nonsense, my dear boy.” Aziraphale smiled indulgently at the smallest kitten. “It's hardly a proper jump at all. No need to be nervous.”

“Yeah!” Brian came tumbling down next, landing in a patch of mud much to Aziraphale's dismay. “It's easy, see? Just do like we do.”

“Not _exactly_ like Brian does, if possible,” Aziraphale sighed, sweeping his tail out of the way of any stray flecks of mud. “Brian, dear, please be careful. I've kept this collar in tip-top condition for years, I'd hate to get it stained.”

“Sorry, papa.”

Pepper tumbled to the ground next, though managed to make her roll across the cobblestones look thoroughly deliberate. She shook her tortoiseshell fur out and licked her paw. “Come on, Wensley! Don't be a _wuss_!” 

“Language, young lady. Aristocats do not use words like 'wuss,'” Aziraphale tutted, leaping back up into the carriage to fetch little Wensleydale, very gently taking him by the scruff.

She sighed gustily, but didn't argue besides. She did stick her tongue out at Wensleydale when he was set safely on the ground. He stuck his out right back. 

“Adam, say 'thank you' to Mistress Nutter for allowing you safe passage on our journey home.”

Aziraphale looked up at the back of the horse, where the golden ball of floof still lorded over all of them. He climbed up to the top of the horse's head, then was lowered down to the ground. He smiled sweetly at her as she straightened up.

“Thanks, Agnes. It's always loads more fun to travel by horse,” Adam told her matter-of-factly.

“Oh, never ye mind, good child. 'Tis a pleasure.”

Aziraphale tsked, but let the lack of propriety go as he had more pressing concerns with Brian tracking mud up into the house. He darted forward and placed a staying paw in the kitten's way. 

“Ah-ah-ah. Not so fast, Brian. You don't want Gabriel upset with you, and you know how he is about pawprints on the carpet,” he chided, then scooped him up by the scruff next. 

Adam and Pepper zipped ahead, Wensleydale prancing delicately beside Aziraphale as they went by the impatiently waiting butler. The fluffy white tail nearly got trapped in the door in his haste to close it. 

The littlest kitten's ears went flat. “Actually, I don't think Gabriel likes _anything_.” 

Adam looked back with a cheeky grin. “Not old pickle puss Gabriel.”

Aziraphale snorted, only saved from laughing outright by the kitten he still held onto. Head and tail held high, Aziraphale trotted over to the butler and presented the filthy kitten, something that had become a bit of a habit since the grimey boy had come into their lives. But even as much of a mess Brian was, he was still a sweetheart, still always supportive. Every family needed a Brian. 

Gabriel's smile was tight as he pinched Brian's fur and lifted him up and away from himself, holding him out like the slightest bit of contact would transfer the dirt to his suit. It was clear that he would not agree with every family needing a Brian. He took him off to be bathed, leaving Aziraphale to look after the three remaining kittens. He fixed Adam with a sterner look, no longer on the verge of laughing.

“Now, children, that isn't polite. Gabriel has our best interests at heart, I assure you.” 

“Yes, but Madame actually has lunch,” Wensleydale replied. 

Pepper huffed, tail flicking as she considered pouncing on him. Maybe when papa wasn't looking. “It isn't even _time_ for lunch.” 

“It is somewhere,” Adam reasoned. “Like in Tibet or something.”

“Actually, the time zones are _very_ different.” 

Pepper's nose wrinkled. “We're not in Tibet anyway. I'll bet Madame has treats, though.” 

Three sets of eyes turned towards Aziraphale, three little tails twitching hopefully, and three smiles equally bright and sweet. Papa knew how to get treats. 

Aziraphale's tail flicked and he looked away, pretending to ignore them, but once the thought of treats was put into his head… “Oh, alright. I suppose one treat each wouldn't hurt. I believe Madame still has those tuna tartar flavored ones. For special occasions.” He wiggled happily, prancing off to find the Madame herself. “Come along, children!”

They quickly followed, Adam and Pepper and Wensleydale in a neat line. “We'll need one for Brian too,” Adam remembered. 

“Obviously,” Pepper muttered. 

“Actually, yes, we will need one for Brian,” Wensleydale agreed. 

They were not the most polite or proper of Aristocats, but they certainly were among the sweetest. 

Soon Brian was with them, chewing on his treat when Gabriel opened the door to Madame Tracy's upstairs office. His suit certainly looked worse for the wear, brows drawn together unhappily and lips almost a sneer if not for some breathless panting. 

“Introducing... mister... Mr. Shadwell, solicitor.” 

“Ach! It's Sergeant Shadwell to you, lad!” a gruff voice snapped behind him. A cane smacked Gabriel in the gut as he came around the corner. “American rot,” he muttered. 

“Mr. Shadwell!” Madame Tracy rose, Aziraphale cradled in her arms as she crossed closer to the old lawyer. “So good of you to come.” 

“Aye, Jezebel, an' ye'd best be payin' me f'r ev'ry bleedin' second.” He looked down, softening just a little when he saw four kittens tumbling around his boots. 

“Oh, Mr. S,” she cooed. “That'll be all, Gabriel, thank you.” 

He barely bowed, turning on his heel and quickly leaving. No one was mindful enough of him to be offended, especially since Shadwell, not paying an ounce of attention to anything and just wanting to get formality out of the way, captured Aziraphale's tail instead of Madame Tracy's hand for a quick kiss. 

She laughed. “Oh, Mr. Shadwell! What a dear you are!” 

Aziraphale tucked his tail against his body, as affronted as a fluffy white cat could look. _I beg your pardon_ , he would've said had he not been a cat, _but I do believe you have the wrong appendage._

“So what's it t'be, Jezebel?” Old eyes lit wickedly. “Suing some bastard?” 

“Heavens no! It's my will, you see.” 

“Will?” To his credit, he looked positively alarmed. “Ye'd best not be plannin' on dying anytime soon. Ye're healthy as can be. All yer... yer witchery and the like. ”

“Oh, don't you worry. I wouldn't do that to you.” 

He skittered away in a panic at the insinuation, roughly clearing his throat as he sat behind the desk. His suitcase smacked against the antique wood with a thud that made Aziraphale wince. Madame Tracy set him down with a gentle pat. “You go have yourself a lie down, dearie.” 

“What?” 

“Not you, Mr. S. But would you like some tea?” She carried over a tray, ready to prepare him a cuppa with his usual nine sugars. 

The kittens had given up on Shadwell's boot laces, their gazes instead on the record player set on low. It could be a fun game. Brian was the only one not looking up, the soft treat stuck in his paw despite several licks with his sandpaper tongue. It smeared onto his ear when he tried to brush it off that way, which was enough for him. 

Just not for his papa. Aziraphale shook his head and pinned the kitten with a paw so he could hold him still as he helped clean him up. The kittens would learn proper grooming at some point, and it was up to him to encourage them and show them how. Brian squirmed beneath him, ears flattening with each pass of his tongue.

Meanwhile, Adam had an idea. “I bet if we sat on the record it would spin us 'round. Like a carousel, but better.”

“It might, but... It _is_ actually very high up.” 

Pepper hummed, looking from the record to the furniture around the player. “I've got it. Follow me.” As confident as ever, she hopped onto a loveseat, one back leg kicking in search of purchase for a moment before she managed to push herself up. “Come on.” 

Adam grinned and followed, his jumps a little bit higher than Pepper's. He did wait for Wensleydale to make it first, the small kitten managing after three attempts. Brian started wriggling, eager to follow his siblings, so Aziraphale gave in with a gusty sigh and let him go. 

“Do be careful, children. And don't scratch the record. You know Madame is rather fond of this one.” He could sense the flashes of love radiating from her as she hummed her way down memory lane when she listened to certain tracks; and he could feel it in her touch when she held him in her lap and scratched behind his ear.

“Yes, papa,” a little chorus rang out, four minds on their game more than rules. 

“Adam, who's going to get the first turn to spin about?” 

“We should make it fair. Won't be right if it's not fair.” Adam's ears perked up as he surveyed the group, all eyes on him and expectant. “Smallest should probably go first. That'd be you, Wensleydale.”

“Wait, but that isn't fair. I want a go on it, too. I don't see why he gets to have all the fun.” Brian's tail flicked irritably as he pouted. 

“We'll all get a turn, he just gets to go first. Then someone else can have a turn. Then we'll start over once we get to the end.”

“Actually, I think that's very fair,” Wensleydale agreed. 

“Besides, Brian, going last means you get to see how it's done. You'll be an expert.” What Pepper didn't say was that he was most likely to trip up the record and get their papa's attention. 

“Fine,” Brian sighed, not wanting to be the one to go against Adam's plan. They did usually make the most sense in most situations.

Pleased with everyone falling into line, Adam led the way to the ornate side table the record player was set on. “Alright, remember, you've got to make sure you jump the needle; otherwise, it'll scratch like papa said.”

“Right.” Wensleydale watched the record spin, squinting a little as he tried to time it with the music. Then he jumped on and managed to hop over the long arm attached to the skinny needle, delighted and delighting his siblings. Getting off was a little more difficult. “Um. Uh- Oh!” he yelped as Pepper grabbed his tail and pulled. They rolled across the table, nearly falling off of it entirely. 

“You can't have _two_ turns,” she complained, claws clicking on the table as she kicked her way back up. 

He stuck his tongue out at her. “I wasn't actually trying to.” 

She scoffed. “Anyway, it's Adam's turn.” 

“That's alright. You can go next, Pepper. I'll go after Brian.”

“Right!” As cheerfully determined as can be, she bounded up to the record and, rather than daintily hop on as Wensleydale had, she lowered her front half and wiggled her tail before pouncing. It caused the record to very briefly skip, but it evened out almost immediately and she was able to hop over the needle arm and then bounce back to the table in pure satisfaction. “It is like a better carousel!” 

“Me next!” Brian clambered on next, clumsier than his smaller siblings, and wobbled his way around until he got to the needle. He jumped too soon though, landing just in front of it and ended up caught under it as the record screeched. “Oh.”

“Children!” 

Pepper sighed. “ _Now_ you've done it.” 

Adam shook his head, but braced his front paws on the record player as he stood on his hind legs. He nudged the needle up with his nose so Brian could wiggle out before Aziraphale hopped onto the loveseat. A disapproving frown had the kittens scurrying away from the record player, but Madame Tracy's charmed laughter rang out as she stroked along Aziraphale's back, then plucked up poor Brian to smooth out his fur.

“Oh, it's alright, little angel. Kittens will be kittens, won't they?” She kissed the top of Brian's head and set him down. “No harm done, little one.” 

“N'harm done? M'ears are bleedin' after all that damned scratchin',” Shadwell complained. 

Madame Tracy waved a finger. “Now Mr. Shadwell, it wasn't all that bad. Have you finished all the changes then?” 

“Aye, Jezebel. Estate left to the ruddy cats an' then off to the butler. Are ye sure ye even wan' the butler? Bet there's somebody better. Yer solicitor, p'rhaps.” 

She laughed, scratching Aziraphale beneath the chin before she replaced the needle on the record and let it restart. “Mr. S, you are a love. But that's how I'd like it.” 

“Hm,” he grunted disapprovingly. 

She ignored him. 

Downstairs, listening in through pipes used to communicate with servants from any room, Gabriel was seething. 

Cats inherit first? _Cats?_ They'd see about that. They would just see about that. 

\----

“Alright, my dears, come along! It's time for your lessons.”

Aristocats stuck to very strict afternoon schedules. In order to become proper gentleladies and gentlemen, it was important to create a well-balanced curriculum that encompassed great literature, all the classic composers, and the finest paintings. Not to mention historical facts and figures, though that was usually reserved for Thursdays.

“In a minute, papa! We're playing Spanish Inquisition!” Adam called out on a day other than Thursday, the kittens gathered on the grass in the back garden. Puffing out his chest, he turned back to face Wensleydale and Pepper. “Art thou a witch, oh evil crone?” 

Wensleydale looked uncertain, especially when Pepper flopped most of her weight against him. “Y-yes?” 

She collapsed further, taking him down with her. “You can't _say_ yes! That misses the point.” 

“Olé!” Brian pounced at them, joining the pile.

Adam released a long-suffering sigh, looking back at Aziraphale to see if he could sympathize with his current predicament. “We're supposed to torture him until he says 'yes,'” he explained.

“Ah.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, wondering if some adjustments needed to be made to their curriculum before shrugging it off. It was probably fine. “Well, you can finish your game later. It's time for your arts lessons. Let's get a wiggle on.”

Wensleydale extricated himself from Pepper and Brian as they continued to roll around, play fighting, and tucked himself under Aziraphale. “I was a witch, actually. It was my turn.” 

“I'm certain you were a frightful witch, my dear boy,” Aziraphale assured him, leaning down to lick one of his ears.

“You are the witch, Wensley. You're just not supposed to say it straight off. It's like a mystery we're trying to solve. Through torture,” Adam said as if it was the most reasonable way to figure things out.

Sometimes Aziraphale had to wonder about Adam. One minute he could be as sweet as could be, and the next it was like he was the son of Satan or something. Aziraphale left the two of them to break up Pepper and Brian and usher them inside.

“That's enough of that. I want all four of you in your places for your respective lessons, or no biscuits for dessert. You'll go straight to bed.”

Pepper gasped. “That's not fair! We're just practicing biting and clawing.” 

Aziraphale looked on in shock. “Why I-! Aristocats don't practice _biting_ and _clawing_! I'm shocked that you would even imply such a thing! There's no need for any of that in our lessons.”

“But all the alley cats do it,” Brian protested.

“And we are not alley cats, are we?” Aziraphale fixed the two of them with a firm look until their ears flattened. “Now we're not having this discussion. Tally-ho. Into the house.”

“What if we run into an alley cat?” Wensleydale wondered, dutifully heading towards their kitty door. “I don't actually think arts would help very much.” 

“We could squirt paint in their eyes.” Adam lit up with a devilish grin. “Fight them off brandishing paint brushes like swords.”

“We won't be fighting anyone,” Aziraphale huffed. “There's no need to fret about alley cats, my dears. Madame would never allow any harm to come to us. We're quite safe in her care.”

“Have _you_ ever seen an alley cat, papa?” Pepper asked, trotting ahead so she could be the first inside.

“I have, yes.”

“Have you ever fought one?” Brian followed up excitedly, bounding through their kitty door behind Pepper.

“I should say not,” he told them once he entered the kitchen through the door, counting all four curious, furry heads. “We kept our respectful distances.”

It was not the exciting tale any of them had hoped for, though none could claim surprise. Pepper looked at her siblings. “Race to the parlor?” 

“Last one there has to sleep in Gabriel's shoes!” Brian shouted, getting a head start.

Pepper and Adam were fast on his heels, Wensleydale not quite gaining traction and losing precious seconds. “That's not actually fair!” he called, finally scampering after them. 

Out of sight from the kittens, Aziraphale couldn't help the indulgent smile as he listened to their excited mews. As fiendish as they could be at times, his kittens were an absolute joy. He trotted along after them, chuckling to himself as he took in the scene. 

Pepper was perched atop the piano, while Adam and Brian were scrambling to get to the easel. Little Wensleydale only just made it to the piano bench, quite displeased by his siblings' obvious trick.

“Sorry, Wensleydale! Looks like it's you and Gabriel's shoes tonight,” Adam giggled.

“Actually, papa was the last one in,” he grumbled. 

“I'm afraid I'm much too big to fit in Gabriel's shoes, my dear boy.” Aziraphale strolled over to the plush chair angled close to the piano, hopping onto the cushions. 

Pepper laughed at Wensleydale's pained expression. “Papa, can we watch Adam and Brian paint before we start our music? Wensley's pouting.” 

“Am not actually.” He was actually. 

“If you promise to play through your repertoire without complaint right after,” Aziraphale agreed. “Then I don't see why we can't watch them for a bit. If it's alright with them.”

“We don't mind, do we, Adam?” Brian somehow already had a glob of green paint smudged into his fur.

“'Course not. They can watch if they like.”

Forgetting his upset in the way of youth, Wensleydale climbed up the piano keys to perch beside Pepper so he could see the canvas. “I'd like to, actually.” 

“Yes,” Pepper agreed, front paws dancing in place. “I'd like to too.” 

The arts were the best days, in their collective opinions. History lessons were downright dull with all the facts and figures they were taught, the barely understood Spanish Inquisition and other more wicked things notwithstanding. Literature days were the second favourite since they could all huddle on and around their papa while he read from whichever book caught his fancy or, just as often, he'd read whichever book caught the kittens' eyes. 

But the arts were different. They were the most fun and, in Brian's case, the messiest. He and Adam mixed and swirled paints, throwing it onto the canvas seemingly at random. The creamy white of Brian's fur was splotched in a rainbow of colors soon enough, but Adam managed not to get a single spot of excess paint onto himself. It was something of a miracle, really. 

When they finished, Pepper laughed loudly and Wensleydale giggled - a honking goose versus a peeping chick. “It looks like Gabriel!” she exclaimed. 

Lopsided and clunky in the way of a child's art, but certainly human and certainly grumpy. “It does, actually! It must be Gabriel.” 

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale bit back his chuckle, as amusing as the depiction of their butler was. It wouldn't do to encourage the growing, young minds to think this sort of tomfoolery was befitting of cats of their class. However… “I must say the likeness is uncanny.”

Adam grinned, as charming as ever. “I think I got his big nose perfect this time.”

“Now, my dear boy, shush. We shouldn't say such things about others' appearances.”

Incorrigible, Pepper beamed. “We should just think them.” 

“Yes- _no_!” Aghast, Aziraphale gently swatted her with his tail, the fluff making it more like being brushed with a feather duster. “We mustn't think such things at all.”

She wiggled a little, tempted to try playing with his tail, but Wensleydale was making jarring sounds with the piano keys as he trotted back to the bench. “Our turn, our turn!” 

“Suck up,” she whispered loudly, the two of them sticking their tongues at one another yet again. 

“Now, now, my dears. I want to hear your pretty song.” He took the chance to nuzzle Pepper while she was still close enough. “I know you can play so nicely with each other.”

Pepper allowed and even leaned into the fond touch since it came with compliments and had the added benefit of wasting just a little bit more time. She didn't mind wasting as much as possible before their afternoon snack, but Aziraphale knew that about her and added a little nudge that got her moving. She popped back up to the piano herself, preening a bit while Wensleydale prepared to begin playing. “Hurry _up_. I'm ready.” 

“Actually, stretching is a very important part of the process and shouldn't be rushed.” But he began plinking at the keys, their duet turning into a trio when Adam pounced on the keys and then a paint-covered quartet when Brian threw himself into the mix. Between the three of them, they were able to encompass the whole of the piano's range for scales and arpeggios. 

To avoid any of Brian's splashing paint, Pepper scampered back to Aziraphale to tuck herself between his front paws and against his soft fluff. 

Aziraphale looked on with a tsk, eyeing the paint splatters with more resignation than disapproval. It was inevitable, after all. The piano hardly made it through a lesson without some sort of mess made atop its keys. Well, Gabriel would take care of it. And maybe they'd be on the receiving end of some strong words, but Aziraphale would take the brunt of it. The children were his responsibility, after all. They were innocent enough, most of the time. No need for them to have to endure Gabriel's wrath.

Speak of the devil, the butler entered the parlour with a silver tray balanced on one hand, unnecessary, but part of the image of the perfect butler. It was time for their afternoon snack, bowls of fresh cream always contained beneath the filigree encrusted lid. Aziraphale's gaze flitted from the tray to the kittens still on the keys. He nudged Pepper aside with a lick, then leapt for the piano bench and yanked the paint splattered Brian away from the keys. It somehow resulted in a splotch of blue paint on his own back, Aziraphale quite unsure just how Brian managed that, but accepted with a sigh. He trotted over to a pile of towels near the easel that were meant to catch this sort of mess before any kitten ventured too far from it and dropped Brian right in the center of them.

“Stay there,” he told him, then pranced over to Gabriel's feet. With a sweet meow, Aziraphale rubbed against the butler's leg, the fluffy white fur catching against the gray slacks of his suit. Whoops.

Gabriel tore his gaze away from the paint on the keys to stare at the cat, big blue eyes beseeching him with cuteness. “Your efforts are praiseworthy, cat, but ultimately doomed to failure.”

Aziraphale's ears flattened and the sweet look passed. _Cat_. Why, he'd never.

“Come, sully the temple of your bodies with gross matter,” he sighed, setting the platter down on the floor. “How any creature can eat straight cream like this… Well, it doesn't bear thinking about.”

Aziraphale's tail flicked in irritation. It was _cream_. It was nice. Turning his nose up, Aziraphale addressed the kittens and beckoned them over for their snack, minus Brian, of course. Poor Brian. If only he would stay clean for five minutes.

Ah well, Gabriel would take care of it. Aziraphale bent over his porcelain bowl with his name engraved on it with pretty, gold cursive and inhaled deeply, ready to savor every last drop. But something was different. Blue eyes blinked as he sniffed again. The cream was normally flavoured with a hint of nutmeg, but there was a spicy sort of aroma that accompanied it this time. Cinnamon?

As the kittens clambered around him in their eager haste to find their respective bowls, Aziraphale sat back and fixed Gabriel with a discerning look. Gabriel almost missed it, preoccupied with holding the squirming Brian, but paused on his way out of the parlour. Their eyes met, violet staring down blue. It was enough to even have the kittens hesitate. Their papa never hesitated to indulge in snack time.

“What?” Gabriel huffed.

Aziraphale waited for his explanation for this disgrace. And it wasn't that cinnamon was particularly _bad_ , not at all. It was just different. Without precedence.

The butler frowned when the cat continued to refuse his snack. “Eat.” He pointed at the dish. 

Aziraphale did not eat.

“What's the matter with you? You overstuffed throw pillow, just eat it.”

Aziraphale's tail twitched irritably.

Gabriel heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. “I'm trying a new recipe,” he ground out in irritation. “Can't believe I'm explaining myself to a cat. It's… I don't know. Crème de la crème a la… Gabriel.”

“That's a gross name,” Pepper decided. 

Wensleydale gave the cream a hesitant lick, then a few more. “Yes, but, actually, it's quite good!” 

“Hm.” Aziraphale still looked skeptical as he gave it another sniff, but… “Well, I suppose I don't want to stifle his creativity… Lord knows he could use some.”

Adam tapped his bowl with his paw, watching the cream ripple. “I don't know… What if he's changed how it smells so he could hide something bad in it? Like so he could poison us without us even knowing?”

Aziraphale softened. “Oh, my dear, that would never happen. As questionable as Gabriel can be, he's still Madame's trusted servant and wouldn't dare go against her wishes.” To reassure the kitten, he bent his head and began to lap up the cream. It was different, but not bad. He simply preferred to approve these kinds of changes first. 

“Great. Good. Eat your food. And, you, stop _squirming_ ,” Gabriel insisted, quickly taking Brian out to dunk him in a sink. He was still dripping wet when he was dropped by the platter minutes later. “Eat,” he insisted, frowning at them all before shaking his head and walking out, the door very nearly slamming behind him. 

Brian's ears were flat as he hunched in on himself. “I'm glad we painted his nose so big. He deserves it.”

Aziraphale looked up from his dish and sighed, but went over to the kitten's side to help clear some of the excess water from his coat with quick swipes of his tongue. Pleased with the attention, Brian dove into his snack with vigor, splashes of cream getting everywhere. Adam still looked at his bowl with mild suspicion, but he was hungry and the others seemed to be enjoying it just fine. Letting his suspicion slide away like water off a duck, he lapped up his portion along with his siblings. 

Until a familiar voice interrupted. “Hello!” a little mouse greeted. There were only two who lived in their walls, at least for the moment, but chasing them was apparently not a thing an Aristocat did. They - Anathema and Newton - were too nice anyway. 

Newt stood behind Anathema with a shy smile. Two crackers, wider than his body, were not-so-hidden behind him. It was an old, familiar routine, but it still made him nervous. “H-hullo, Mr. Aziraphale. Kittens.” 

“Hello,” Aziraphale greeted cheerfully, looking up from the tufts of Brian's fur sticking up every which way. “Newton, Anathema. How lovely to see you both.”

Adam perked up and bounded over to the two of them. “Anathema! Have you found any more scraps from those New Aquarian magazines?” As much as he enjoyed reading, books had nothing on magazines, in his opinion. The mice always had such an easier time getting their paws on scraps like that, the New Aquarians by far his favourites.

“I have!” Her hands clasped, pleased with him. “Have you finished what I gave you last time?” 

“Yeah. That bit about Atlantis was wicked. I can't believe a whole city could survive beneath the ocean like that.” Adam grinned, all eager curiosity.

“Adam, finish your cream first. You can discuss your magazines after.”

“Okay, papa.”

“Oh, is it time for cream already?” Anathema wasn’t subtle at all.

Newt looked properly embarrassed at her. “We heard Gabriel prattling on. Something about a new recipe?” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked at the bowl with some disdain, returning to his dish when Brian was as dried and clean as he could get him.

“You don't like it, papa?” Brian asked, already halfway through his.

“I didn't say that. I'll get used to it,” he sighed. “I just wasn't expecting a change, that's all. Oh, where are my manners? Newton, Anathema, would you care to join us?” 

“We'd love to, thank you.” 

“We have crackers,” Newt announced needlessly. 

Wensleydale looked over, licking his muzzle. He was starting to feel tired, which wasn't particularly odd at this time of day as it was close to their nap time. “You can dunk them in my bowl, actually.” 

“Thank you, Wensleydale.” Anathema made her way over, easily scaling the side of the bowl. “I'll do it, Newt.” 

“Probably for the best,” he agreed, handing her one cracker at a time to get dunked into cream.

Pepper hid a yawn, immediately annoyed by it. Naps were for _little_ kittens. “It's spicier than normal.” 

“That would be the cinnamon, dear girl.” Aziraphale felt a swell of affection surge up for his sleepy darlings. He bent his head and lapped up his cream, privately enjoying the bit of a kick the cinnamon added. With the kittens quieting and growing drowsy, he was able to focus entirely on enjoying his snack. It would tide him over until dinner, keep him from getting too peckish.

Except the more he ate, the stranger he started to feel. Normally not one for cat naps, Aziraphale felt a foggy sort of heaviness settle behind his eyes. He blinked to clear it, but his bowl simply weaved in and out of focus. How odd.

“Children,” he tried to get out, but the word felt just as heavy on his tongue and when he looked up, he realized the kittens had already all settled down right there for their naps, rather than in their nice, comfortable beds. “Oh… That's rather odd. My dear mice, are you feeling… oh. Are you quite alright?”

Anathema, half her cracker gone, was bobbing a little. “Fine,” she managed groggily. “Just... fine.” 

“Ah... I should- We should- Anathema?” 

“Mm?” 

“Oh, dear. I'll just get her home, shall I?” Newt yawned, though, feeling a little sluggish himself. “Sorry. Dunno what's... Sorry.” 

Aziraphale's eyes continued to droop and he just had to lay his head down. Just for a tick. He yawned, curling up in front of his bowl in a manner most unbecoming for an Aristocat, but perhaps he'd just been more tired than he realized. All the sleepless nights in the library catching up to him, plus the energy needed to corral four energetic kittens. They all needed a good nap.

“It's not a problem,” he slurred, almost forgetting to accept Newt's apology before succumbing to sleep. “It's tickety-boo…”

\---

It was the first time Gabriel could recall the white cat genuinely sleeping. He couldn't count the number of times he'd gotten up in the middle of the night to get something from the kitchen only to find the cat curled up on or around a book. Or how often he'd seemed to be asleep, lounging in a patch of sun while the kittens napped nearby, but those blue eyes had been wide open. It was disconcerting, Madame Tracy's perfect angel more like a wretched demon.

This was a long time coming, in his opinion. The cat had been a thorn in his side for years and the kittens only more stressful, especially the striped one. As Gabriel settled them into the sidecar of Madame Tracy's motorized scooter, he lifted the curtain of their basket to glare at them. A low light streamed across the golden kitten's face, Adam very briefly blinking his eyes open before adjusting to hide in Aziraphale's tail. 

Gabriel's eyes rolled as he dropped the curtain again and pushed the scooter to the road, not wanting to risk waking Madame Tracy. That would ruin his rather great plan of drugging, drowning, and ditching the five cats in the countryside. Sure, she'd be upset when she awoke to find them gone, but she'd be _too_ upset to replace her cats. The inheritance was as good as his and now he wouldn't even have to bathe a kitten a dozen times a day or prepare their meals and snacks or be terrified by Aziraphale's inability to sleep. Or be annoyed by all the cat hair that clung to his clothes. He _liked_ the clothes. He did not and never would like four-legged creatures and their fur. 

When he reached the road, he started the borrowed scooter and headed off towards the countryside. Tadfield might be just far enough. 

\---

It wasn't a dark and stormy night, but that didn't mean the forces of evil weren't at work. Two dogs lurked in the cemetery on the property of St. Beryl's convent, just on the edge of Tadfield, and they could lurk all night if they had to, with enough sullen menace for a final burst of lurking around dawn. Accompanying their lurking were their calls to the moon. Sinister howls in the dead of night that could frighten even the most steadfast of soldiers.

As the puttering of a motorbike sounded on the nearby country road, the dogs quieted and listened. “What's that then?” the larger pale, grimy mutt named Hastur growled menacingly. 

“Dunno.” The smaller, black pug-like dog named Ligur grunted sullenly. “But sounds like nothing good.”

“Oh. Good then.” Hastur made to lie down beside a tombstone, to continue lurking in the dirt.

“No, that's bad.” Ligur's ears twitched as he sniffed the air.

“But… we like bad.” Hastur cocked his head in confusion.

“Oh. Right.” Ligur reflected on that for less than a second, only because he'd confused himself now. “Doesn't matter. I'm the leader. I say we check it out.”

The dogs crept to the fence, peering out at the road from between the wooden posts. A single light bobbled in the distance, near the river and the Eastern bridge. It was the only movement on the dark country road, beckoning the hounds to unleash their Hellish instincts to chase it down.

“Let's get it,” Hastur growled.

Ligur snorted. “Wait. I said I'm the leader. I say when we go.” 

“So we should go?” 

“Should we?” 

“You just said ‘go.’” 

“Oh. Right. Then let's go.” 

Before the light finished crossing the bridge, the dogs charged, snapping and snarling. The kind of sounds that started in one throat and ended up in someone else's. In this case, that someone else was Gabriel.

Almost.

He veered to avoid them, the basket bobbing at the unexpected motion, and sped off with several strong words aimed at animals in general and dogs specifically as he bobbed and weaved and dodged the chasing creatures. He zipped down the side of the bridge when their chasing proved _very_ insistent. 

A rock helped him bounce over the water, but it also knocked the feline-filled basket right out of the sidecar and scattered cats like raindrops. The wild chase continued, Gabriel losing bits and pieces of the scooter and his personal effects as he tried desperately to outrun two very determined canines. He called them Hellhounds over and over again, his shouts and the vicious barking fading into the night. 

Gabriel managed to drug and ditch Madame Tracy's beloved pets, but the drowning bit was going to need some tweaking. Even though one of them had indeed ended up in the shallow water because, even asleep, Brian couldn't stay clean. 

Aziraphale woke with a start as his body hit the ground. “What the devil-?” he sputtered in indignation, complaints silencing as he had a good look around and immediately realized this was not the library, or any room in Madame Tracy's house for that matter. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

He was outside, in the dark. Even with their kitty door allowing them to roam the garden freely, they never went out once it was dark. Certainly not in the dirt, in a ditch, by the side of a riverbank. He wracked his brain for any recollection of how he could've ended up here, only able to vaguely recall snack time and having to clean Brian. Again.

The kittens. One of their bed baskets sat at an angle beneath the bridge, blankets askew. Aziraphale's ears perked up, listening for any sign of them as he rose.

“Darlings? Are you here?” he called out, panic rising in his voice. “Kittens?”

He heard a splash from the river and his eyes widened. Oh no, what if they'd fallen in? The poor little dears couldn't swim. Aziraphale bounded over to a rock to get a better vantage point, his heart quivering as he saw something moving through the mud. 

“Papa?” 

“ _Oh_. Oh, Brian, dearest.” He didn't even mind the mud as he scurried to help the kitten find his way to the bank. “I'm right here, my dear. Follow my voice, there we go.”

“Papa, I'm cold and I'm wet,” Brian complained miserably, allowing himself to be coddled as the larger cat plucked him up and carried him back to the basket.

“There, there. No harm done,” Aziraphale soothed as he looked him over. “No bones broken. Now, have you seen your siblings?”

“No. Where are we?” 

That he still didn't know, but finding the other kittens took precedence, obviously. “Pepper? Adam, Wensleydale! Where are you?” 

Trapped on a forked branch, Wensleydale wiggled his back paws uselessly. “Papa? Papa!” 

“What're you doing up there, Wensleydale?” Brian asked, scurrying after Aziraphale as he plucked the small kitten out of the tree and set him safely on the ground.

“Actually, I didn't mean to be in the tree,” he huffed, glaring at the still dripping Brian.

“Well, thank the Almighty you're alright. Now we just need to find Adam and Pepper and everything will be okay again.” Aziraphale tried not to fret too much, now with the eyes of his children on him. “You two stay here. Stay together. I'll be right back.” The two kittens nodded, and Aziraphale could breathe a little easier knowing that they'd mind him for the moment. 

Pepper wanted to mind him, just as cold and wet as poor Brian for once. She was at least lucky enough to have not landed in the mud and too stubborn for tears. She kept her chin up even as she wobbled through the water. “Papa?” she called, wiggling her way onto a rock. A croak sounded somewhere near her, the unfamiliar sound making her tense. “Papa?” she tried again, trying to gauge where the sound had come from so she could avoid it. She ended up walking straight into the source, the bullfrog bellowing at her even louder. Her own yelp would be denied forever as she tumbled off the rock and into the water again. Then she ran, kicking up water as she aimed for the shore. “Papa!” 

“Pepper!” Aziraphale hurried in the direction of her cries, only to let out an 'oof' as a wet kitten collided with his front. “Oh, Pepper, here I am, dear girl. It's quite alright now.” Three down, one to go. “It was only a little frog, my dear. We must have respect for all God's living things. Even frogs.” 

“It was _huge_ ,” she complained, huddling between his paws and shivering. “But I wasn't scared.” 

“Of course you weren't, my brave girl.” Aziraphale nuzzled her, to reassure them both she was alright. 

From behind him, Brian mimicked the sound of a bullfrog, accompanied by his and Wensleydale's giggling. With a sigh, Aziraphale nudged her over to the basket. When he fixed the boys with stern looks, they quieted and sat up straight as could be.

“Sorry, papa,” they chorused.

“Behave yourselves while I find Adam. He can't be hard to spot. Adam! _Adam_!” 

While Aziraphale searched the bushes for him, Brian took it upon himself to help in the best way he knew how. “Adam!” he joined in the shouting. “Where've you got to? Adam!” 

Pepper and Wensleydale's calls joined his, the three little kittens disturbing something in the basket. It rose from the depths of the blankets, eyes gleaming in the darkness. It opened its mouth, teeth razor sharp and capable of tearing open veins and arteries with their precision. 

Adam yawned and blinked sleepily. “What're you lot yelling about?” 

“Adam!” Wensleydale realized. “Have you actually been sleeping this whole time?” 

Pepper shook out her fur unhappily. “Papa, papa! He's been in the basket all along!” 

“Oh, thank Heaven.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. He considered himself a nondenominational cat, but whole-heartedly believed in the Almighty's ineffable plan. 

Trotting back over to the kittens, he looked in on Adam to make sure he was in one piece. “Good, alright. We're all here, we're all okay. That's what's important. We can figure the rest out as we go.” He looked about now that the pressure of finding his kittens had receded, but he still had no idea where they were in relation to their home. “Oh, dear.”

“How did we get all the way here, papa?” Brian asked. “This is loads bigger than our garden.”

“I- I don't know, children,” he told them quite honestly, tail and ears drooping. He'd never been outside the garden before.

“It was Gabriel!” Adam declared now that he was more awake. “I had a dream and I saw him looking down on us in the basket.”

“Really?” Brian looked at Adam, completely trusting his word. “But why would he do that?” 

“I dunno. I just know it was him.”

“Adam, you're being ridiculous. Gabriel may not have the best temperament, but he would never hurt us deliberately.” Only accidentally, on multiple occasions. But he did give out the occasional treat sometimes when he felt like being generous.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. What had started out as a not very dark and stormy night had suddenly become one, and raindrops plopped onto the cats' heads as the downpour began. Ears flattening, the kittens hopped into the basket to huddle together, Aziraphale following once they were all accounted for. Four cold, shivering bundles of fur nestled against his side as they peered out into the storm. 

“What're we going to do?” Pepper asked. 

“I'm afraid I don't know, my dears. But we'll figure something out. For now, try to get some sleep, I'll look after you.” Aziraphale's chest rumbled with gentle purrs to soothe them to sleep, and he was true to his word, keeping guard over his charges at the base of the Eastern bridge while the storm raged. 

\---

Back in London, Madame Tracy awoke in the night and found her most precious treasures lost to her. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> Crowley! Lol
> 
> Skim  
> Crowley caaaaat! /ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ᵐᵉᵒʷˎˊ˗

Tadfield was nicer in the daytime, nicer still when it wasn't storming. Even the outskirts of the picturesque town were bright and charming and cheerful. The greenery stretched for kilometres on end, the hills rolling and covered in flowers and trees with lush leaves and fresh fruit. It was also a town filled with gullible humans who'd leave food out for strays, not that they would if they saw _he_ was the one benefitting. He wasn't exactly a popular figure, but he was fond enough of St. Beryl's. The Satanic nuns may have been the type to chatter an ear off if given the chance, but they loved a black cat. And Anthony J. Crowley, with his sleek fur and amber eyes, certainly fit that bill. 

They treated him well enough to be worth a visit every now and again, especially when he got tired of ignoring every scream of “Get out of here, you mangy thing! You're bad luck!” aimed his way from the people of central London. Or when those superstitions made it extra difficult to get food. He thought, all things considered, that he had quite a bit of good luck. The two idiot dogs who lurked near the convent hadn't yet eaten him, despite many, many attempts, so that had to count for something. And he did, in fact, _have_ food that he would actually eat. He even had something of a home in London, though it was terribly lonely sometimes. 

He trotted along the roadside, debating whether he should head back to lonely London or maybe venture into Tadfield proper. The food he had stored in the old red bandana around his neck would be enough to get him to either place, depending on how quick the drivers felt like being. He'd had just about enough of the chattering order for one visit, no matter how kind they were to him. It was an off-kilter, worshipful sort of kind and it usually made him uncomfortable after too long. 

His musings faded when he caught the scent of something... He sniffed again. Something new. Something that enveloped his senses in all the comforts of a full belly, soft snuggles, and the warmth of the library at the nunnery. He'd rarely had the first, couldn't recall the second, and detested the library. He didn't even know how to read. So why this scent ensnared him and made him want to find its owner was beyond him. He should turn right back around and return to St. Beryl's. 

He'd never been good at doing what he _should_ do, though.

He slunk through the grass, hiding low and thankfully downwind as he made his slow way towards the scent. A white cat sat on the wall of the Eastern Bridge, gazing out with eyes Crowley couldn't yet see. But he looked charming, all fluffy and curly and as white as Crowley was black. His collar - and what a rare sight that was in the country - even had a bowtie on it. This was not a feline who belonged between Tadfield and London, though he could've belonged to either. 

Lost, then. 

Crowley leapt onto the wall, landing at the white cat's left, and thoroughly expected to be ignored or shooed away. Being unwelcome had never stopped him before, though. “Hello, angel. Wandered a bit too far from home, have you?” 

“Oh!” The white cat started, front paws flailing a little and the license on his collar tinkling ever so delicately. Round, blue eyes blinked at him, but it was out of surprise that he looked his way rather than disgust, then curiosity followed right at its heels. “Oh, well, yes. I suppose I have, rather. Terribly sorry, is this your wall? I didn't mean to trespass, my dear fellow, I only wanted to get a better view.”

“As much my wall as it is yours. Public land and all,” he replied, a little surprised by his reaction and not quite sure what to do with it. It or those incredibly pretty eyes. His head tilted, tail flicking this way and that, and even sitting still he seemed full of motion and ready to run if things went pear-shaped. “It does make for a nice enough view if you're into that sort of a thing.” 

“I suppose it is rather lovely. I’ve never seen the English countryside before. In person, anyway. Are you familiar with the area, mister…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking to Crowley’s neck out of habit, checking for his name.

“Crowley,” he supplied, “and yes. It's just one of the places I roam.” 

“Ah. I see. You wouldn’t, by chance, know the way to London from here, would you, Mr. Crowley? How far away it is?”

“At least a day's worth of a walk, but there's always plenty of cars traveling between Tadfield and London. It usually just takes a couple of hours that way, depending.” He glanced at the tag, the lengthy scrawl stretched across the golden trinket. It was a pretty thing, he supposed. Shiny, at least. 

The pretty white cat noticed him looking. “Oh, where are my manners? My name is Aziraphale. A pleasure to meet you- ah, well, perhaps not precisely a ‘pleasure.’ I would have preferred to meet under different circumstances, of course, but I suppose meeting someone out here is better than not meeting someone at all, if one has to be lost in the countryside. Ah… nevermind, forget I said anything. It’s a pleasure. Still- er, regardless.” Aziraphale shook his head, paws shifting restlessly before he lifted one to lick the back of for something to do. 

“Right.” He rose and circled him, curious and just needing to move. There was a little pang of sympathy tucked in somewhere too, though it was easily overshadowed by a flutter of amusement. “Do you always have a blue spot on your back or is that a new style you're trying?” 

“What?” Aziraphale craned his neck back to try and see just what he was talking about. “Oh- oh, _no_.” His ears fell flat as recognition flooded his face, paint from the art lesson the day before. “It’s been there all night, hasn’t it? Now I’ll never get this stain out.”

“It'll probably grow out easy enough.” But Crowley hummed and licked his paw before rubbing it against the splotch of colour. He just seemed so upset about it. “That smudged it a bit anyway, so I bet it'll wash out fine.” 

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale could see that it did in fact smudge a bit, but his attempts to reach it himself fell flat. It was just too close to the middle of his back. 

Still humiliated that he had such a blight on his otherwise pristine coat, asking for assistance from a relative stranger wasn’t normally something he’d even consider. He considered the slinky black cat, the way he offered up a suggestion without being prompted. He’d never actually met an alley cat before, but this one was hardly the territorial, snarling, spitting demon he’d been expecting. He seemed considerate enough, if a little forward.

“I don’t suppose you could,” he started before he could second guess himself. “Well, it is a rather difficult spot to reach, and now that I know the stain is there, I’m certain it will be all I think about…” Aziraphale looked at him imploringly. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to lend a paw?”

Normally, Crowley would've just gestured at the river and suggested a roll in the water and a bit of wiggling against the grass. But paint in fur wasn't an ideal mess to deal with and a very good reason why he stayed tucked in his home every Halloween. It didn't help that those blue eyes were glittering like pretty diamonds, beseeching too sweetly. He gave in with a small huff. “Alright, angel. It'll be easier on the riverbank so come on.” 

Perking up, Aziraphale followed him down off the bridge. They landed side by side on the damp, fresh earth and trotted to the water’s edge. Aziraphale presented his back to the alley cat, fluffy tail curling gracefully around his haunches to stay out of the water and mud. Gratitude shone just as brightly as his pleading had while his gaze followed him.

Crowley soaked a paw in the water, clearly unhappy about getting wet, but he didn't complain as he started wiping paint away. It came out easily enough, like something designed for messy kids. “So how did a posh angel like you end up all the way out here?” 

“I’m afraid I’m not certain.” His tail twitched, a slight shudder rippling along his spine under the gentle pressure. “I er… I fell asleep. One moment I was enjoying my afternoon snack, then the next… I’m out here. Unconscious and under a bridge, of all things. Utterly humiliating,” he huffed. “I don’t suppose this sort of thing happens often around these parts?”

They were close to a Satanic nunnery, but Crowley didn't seek information about any odd rituals and none of their constant chattering had included arranging feline disappearances. The town itself? Definitely, absolutely not. “Nope. If you're the right sort, nearby Tadfield is almost overwhelmingly... pleasant.” He ducked his head when the paint was washed away, burying his nose in Aziraphale's scent as he groomed away the river water. It was admittedly more self-indulgent than it was necessary, but he couldn't remember the last time someone hadn't immediately shooed him away.

Likewise, Aziraphale couldn't remember the last time he'd been groomed. Petted and cuddled were one thing, and he groomed the kittens near constantly, but there was a certain kind of care that came with each broad stroke of his tongue. A purr rumbled deep in Aziraphale's chest, unbidden and surprising with its suddenness.

“Oh. Oh, thank you. That's- that's very kind of you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley muttered, embarrassed by the gratitude and confused by the sound emanating from him. It was so soft, similar to a growl but entirely too sweet. He circled Aziraphale to see if he could figure out where it was coming from, a glance at his face confirming the lack of anger. Maybe a bit of annoyance from being told to shut up, but that still didn't explain the rumbling. “The hell is that sound you're making?” 

“What sound?” Aziraphale frowned at him, but the purring didn’t stop. If anything, it only got louder once Crowley was back in his line of sight. “Oh. The purring?”

Crowley squinted as if he didn’t quite believe him. “ _That’s_ what purring is?”

He looked properly startled. “You don’t know what _purring_ is?”

“Obviously not. I wouldn’t’ve asked.” He sat in front of him, tail twitching. “S’pose it’s the sort of thing you learn from being around other cats. And I’ve certainly never made a sound like that independently.” Really, he only knew the word because he’d heard the nuns talk to each other when he evaded their attempts to pet him or, horror of horrors, pick him up. He allowed them to bask in his presence and that should be enough, but his lack of purring was just another thing they liked to chatter about.

“You haven’t?” Aziraphale blinked at him, astonishment segueing into honest curiosity. “Well, I- I’m afraid I haven’t been around many cats either, but perhaps social interaction does play a role in it.” He'd only ever purred around Madame Tracy before the kittens had come into his life, after all.

He was about to ask if that meant Crowley was all on his own, without any friends or family to call his own, when a lorry rumbled loudly over the bridge. Bloody lorries. It splashed through a puddle leftover from the rain, sending up a spray of water over the edge towards them. Aziraphale instinctively shielded the black cat with his fluffy tail as the droplets rained down on them. It helped a little, keeping him mostly dry under all the floof, so Aziraphale was satisfied even if it meant he’d need to groom his tail now. Who knew how dirty the water from the puddle was? Flicking his tail out, Aziraphale bent his head to start cleaning it meticulously, unaware of what a simple act could mean to a cat that _was_ all on his own.

It made something in Crowley’s chest loosen and warm after the surprise wore off. The sensation was entirely new and entirely too tangled to understand, like melted tenderness and hyper joy and everything in-between all at once. And he had absolutely no idea what to do with it, watching Aziraphale groom quietly. Or he thought it was quietly for a few seconds until he realised with a start that the grumbling, rusty purrs were coming from his own throat.

Though he didn’t pause in his bathing, Aziraphale’s blue eyes flicked up at the sound. He didn’t say anything, but something in his gaze sparkled. Something playful and maybe a little bit cheeky, but also quite honestly touched. If he’d been telling the truth about never having purred before… well, he couldn’t imagine it now that he was hearing it. It was a _lovely_ sound.

“Everything alright, my dear?” he finally asked once he was satisfied with the state of his tail.

“Yes.” _No._ That look had only made the rumbling louder. “How d’you switch it off again?”

Aziraphale grinned, sitting prettily and primly as he looked at him with far too much fondness. “Don’t fret, Mr. Crowley. It’ll run its course. Once the contentment settles.”

This was _not_ contentment. He was fairly positive he’d felt that before, particularly in the place he called home back in London napping in sunbeams. Yes, _that_ was contentment. This was something entirely different. “Right. Well.” He cleared his throat and looked away from those sparkling eyes. It seemed to help some. “It’s just Crowley. You can drop the stupid mister, at any rate. I should, ah, get you on a ride home.”

“You would do that?” Aziraphale lit up, radiating gratitude once again. “Oh, thank you. That’s too kind of you, Mr.- er. Ah, Crowley.” A sweet, apologetic smile crossed his face at the near slip-up. “I do appreciate it tremendously. I’ll have to repay you somehow.”

“Yeah, we appreciate it, too.”

Aziraphale blinked, then peered around Crowley for the source of the voice. All four of his little ones had somehow gathered just behind him, each of their eager, nosy little faces watching them both expectantly. Adam sat front and center, the first one to pipe up as he gave the sleek, black cat a onceover.

“You _are_ getting us a ride, too, aren’t you?” 

“Actually, I don’t think he _can_ get papa a ride and not also get us one.”

Crowley’s brain short-circuited. _Papa_. His gaze shifted from the kittens - _four_ kittens - to Aziraphale and back. It somehow made absolutely no sense yet plenty of it. While he hadn’t at all seemed like he’d be tied down, someone this sweet and effortlessly caring _should_ be a parent. “Ngk. Should be fine. Can’t leave kittens on their own.”

“Please, darling, don’t be rude,” Aziraphale requested of Adam, and a quick glance to the other three let them know he was addressing them as well. “We are in no way entitled to… Crowley’s assistance. We should be polite.”

Adam’s ears twitched, looking altogether unimpressed. “But he already said it should be fine. What’s the point of asking politely if he already said it’s fine?”

“Manners, dear boy,” Aziraphale said at the same time Brian chirped, “Dolphins.” The kittens dissolved into a chorus of delighted snickers and the white cat sighed. It was another one of their ‘inside jokes,’ he deduced.

Pepper recovered first, whiskers twitching curiously. “How come you’re not hissing and spitting? Are you a _real_ alley cat?”

Crowley shook his head, a smile threatening. He had a soft spot for kittens. They never seemed to know better about much of anything. “I’d say so. I just save the hissing and spitting for the ones who deserve it.”

“Brilliant.” Brian grinned, easily won over by that rationale. “How many fights’ve you been in? Bet it's loads.”

“My dear kittens, please try to contain yourselves.” Aziraphale looked at him apologetically. “They can be excitable. And very curious. Please excuse them.”

“I don't mind curiosity. Can't learn anything without questions, can you?” Crowley shrugged, glancing skyward to judge the time. If they'd been out there all night, they'd be hungry and he knew of one lorry they could make particular use of. “Now if you want that ride, we should get going. The driver'll take you straight into London so long as he doesn't spot you.” 

“Doesn’t spot us?” Aziraphale looked a bit ruffled as he echoed Crowley. “Do you mean to say we’d be _stowaways_?” he asked while the kittens seemed excited by the prospect.

“Obviously. You're not in London, angel. You'll need to take what you can get.”

“Wicked!” Adam decided. “We’ve never been stowaways.”

“Actually, no,” Wensleydale agreed, “we haven't. How do we be stowaways?” 

“We have to have disguises,” Adam told him. “You can’t be a proper stowaway without a disguise.”

“We could wear sunglasses,” Brian suggested. “It’s what people do when they don’t want to be noticed.”

Adam considered that as a very possible solution. “D’they make sunglasses for cats, you think?”

“Well, they make bowties for cats like the one papa’s got,” the striped kitten reasoned.

“Actually that’s not a real bowtie,” Wensleydale chimed in. “It’s a collar.”

“Yeah, but it looks like a bowtie,” Brian defended.

“Where are we even supposed to _get_ sunglasses?” Pepper demanded, far more interested in that angle than the bowtie discussion. Papa had never worn anything different, despite Madame Tracy’s numerous efforts to update his look. “Madame Tracy’s the one who gets us things and she isn’t here.”

Crowley shook his head, hardly aware of the small smile on his face. They were a very opinionated group, it seemed, and he could certainly appreciate their imaginations. “You’ll have to be stowaways the old-fashioned way, before sunglasses existed. Up to the road, you lot, come on. You’ll need-” Whatever they needed was a mystery, Crowley nabbing Brian by the scruff just before he could stumble his distracted way into a muddy puddle the lorry’s splash had created. Tail flicking, he decided to just carry him up the grassy hill.

The small surge of panic that shot through the fluffy white cat receded slowly as he watched Crowley in awe. Aziraphale thought for certain that he’d have a grimy kitten on his paws again, wondering just how he would possibly keep him clean for their entire journey home, but with the quickest reflexes he’d ever seen, the alley cat nipped this particular situation in the bud. Not to mention he seemed very… _good_ with them. So far. He hadn’t missed the look he’d worn as he watched them, and had a surprising amount of patience that one wouldn’t normally expect from a cat on the streets. No, even Aziraphale expected him to come off quite possibly feral rather than kind. It seemed they had, as the saying was, lucked out.

“Come along, my dears. Let’s follow Crowley here.” Aziraphale nudged Pepper along with a gentle head bump, keeping an eye on the three still with him.

“Papa, can you actually be an alley cat if you have a bandana?” Wensleydale asked quietly, carefully picking his way through the grass.

“Don’t be wet,” Pepper chided. “He said he’s one. And a bandana isn’t a collar.”

“And he doesn’t have a tag like papa does.” Adam crouched a little, trying to mimic Crowley’s long-legged saunter and failing adorably. “Maybe he won it in a fight and it’s stained with the blood of his enemies.”

“Very imaginative.” Dear Lord, sometimes he really did wonder. Aziraphale lifted his gaze skyward, then sighed and helped Adam right himself with a paw. “Well, you could just ask him where he got it from.”

Adam grinned at him. “That’d be too easy.”

“Of course it would.”

“Well, where do you think he got it from?” Pepper asked.

“Most likely from a kindly human.” Possibly so he could have a quite literal red flag hanging from him to warn carriages and automobiles from hitting him in the dark, with all his jet black fur, not that he would frighten the kittens by telling them that.

They still looked rather unimpressed by his answer nonetheless. “Sorry, papa, but that’s a bit of a rubbish answer,” Adam told him, trying to sound sympathetic.

“It is actually,” Wensleydale agreed.

“Well, you asked,” Aziraphale huffed. “Now don’t dawdle. Get a wiggle on.”

They could all hear an approaching vehicle as they reached the top of the hill, Brian trying to peer down the road around Crowley. He’d been tucked - because Crowley had no other idea what to do with a rambunctious kitten - between his front legs for safekeeping. “Is that one for us?”

“Should be.” He rose, ushering Brian into the safety of bushes by the roadside so he could be hidden. “Tuck in with him, angel, and the rest of them. You stand out a bit too much.”

Aziraphale did as he was instructed, counting all four kittens as he drew them close to his side and curled his tail around them. “But, my dear, how are you going to get it to stop?” It was traveling much faster than the carriages they were used to, faster even than Madame’s eccentric scooter she’d insisted on.

“Same way I always do.”

It was the quickest answer, serving far more as a reassurance than an actual explanation. He streaked across the street and up a tree, lithe figure belying the strength in him. The climb seemed completely effortless, though there was a chance he could slide off the thin branch he crouched on. His balance wasn't admittedly the best and he'd fallen more than once in his life. As the lorry crested the little hill just below the branch, he leapt onto the windshield with the sort of hissing yowl an alley cat could pride themselves on.

It made the startled driver swear and slam on his brakes, weaving on the dirt road. Crowley leapt off while he was distracted, accepting the shouts of “You mangy mongrel!” as his due whilst sauntering past the bushes. “Come on, you lot, he’ll only be stopped a moment.”

“Crowley! That was entirely too reckless, you could’ve been killed!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he emerged from the foliage, gaze skimming over him to ensure no damage had befallen him.

“Lucky I’ve got a few extra lives to spare,” he replied, sarcasm entirely missing the kittens suddenly underfoot.

“That was _really_ cool,” Brian praised, eyes bright with excitement.

“It was, actually. Really very cool.”

“How’d you know it would work?” Pepper wondered, waiting for an answer when Crowley plucked her up by the scruff and leapt into the back of the lorry with her.

“I’ve done it before, but you four had better not be getting any ideas of copying.” He jumped back down to get Adam next. They didn’t have much time and Aziraphale still seemed too disapproving - or possibly a bit concerned? - to be quick enough help.

“Is it just a thing for grown-ups?” the tortoiseshell asked, curiosity still running high.

“Must be,” Adam mused as he was set down. “You’d have to be heavy enough to not bounce all off.”

“But actually not too heavy, otherwise you might not make the jump,” Wensleydale put in as he was plucked up by Aziraphale and brought into the lorry.

“You could if your legs were strong enough,” Brian reasoned, then crouched down in an attempt to show them and leapt up to see if he could make the jump into the back himself, but he didn’t quite make it, his hind legs dangling over the edge as he kicked for something to brace his paws against.

Aziraphale nabbed him by the scruff and pulled him the rest of the way in. “None of you will ever be trying something like that no matter how heavy or quick or strong you are,” he told them in a voice that booked no arguments, then fixed his stern gaze on Crowley. “But I suppose I should say ‘thank you.’ For the, ah… ride.”

“Don’t say that. Just stay low and you’ll make it to London in one piece. Bloke’s a milkman, so he won’t make stops on the way.” Which was all the explanation he felt was needed. As the lorry restarted, engine rumbling, Crowley leapt out. His good deed for the week was done. Maybe even the month, seeing that he’d ensured they had food _and_ a ride back home.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Aziraphale looked after the black cat, a bit of a sharp pang in his chest as he realised this was very likely the last he’d see of him. “If you’re ever back in London…” Do what? Look them up? They were cats, it wasn’t as if they’d be in a phonebook. “Well, perhaps our paths will cross again someday. Do take care, Crowley.”

His luck didn’t run _that_ good. And he absolutely wouldn’t be welcome in whatever posh part of the city they lived in. “Right. You too.”

The kittens, surprised that he wasn’t coming along and a little disappointed that all their questions wouldn’t be answered, went near the edge of the door over their papa’s alarmed objections to wave goodbye. The lorry lurched forward just as Aziraphale was rounding them up and drawing them back with assurances of, “You can bid him farewell from in here.” A sudden bump in the road bounced the three he'd managed to corral as well as the one he'd yet to reach.

The littlest and most off-balance kitten ended up the other way, Wensleydale dropping over the edge with a yelped, “Papa!”

It made Crowley’s fur stand on end as much as Aziraphale's panicked gasp did, so he quickly darted forward, snatching the little tuxedo kitten up and leaping into the moving vehicle. He almost didn’t make it, but managed to wriggle his way up and into the back of the lorry so he could deposit Wensleydale safely at Aziraphale’s tense paws. “Well. Lucky I was in the area.”

Aziraphale carefully examined the little kitten, gently nuzzling him with a sigh of relief when he saw no signs of lasting damage. He tucked Wensleydale close and lifted his gaze to Crowley, blue eyes shining. It would’ve been an impossible choice. He couldn’t have left little Wensleydale alone on the road, but to get his other three kittens down safely before they got too far away… well, there was no telling how that would’ve turned out. Not good, that was for certain.

“I suppose I am,” he replied, and meant it. “Thank you, Crowley. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Stop worrying about it, for a start. Do you say thanks for every little thing?” 

“Yes, actually,” Wensleydale put in, snuggling against Aziraphale's soft fur as he sought the familiar comfort. “Papa's very polite.” 

“He’s always telling us to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’” Brian added. “And to mind our manners.”

Aziraphale licked behind Wensleydale’s ear, smoothing out his fur from where it had gotten mussed. “I do have to set an example for the children.” He paused to glance back over at Crowley. “And I am very grateful. Perhaps I’ll get you lunch, if you’re not averse to accompanying us to London…” he trailed off, letting the suggestion hang in the air. “You are already on the automobile with us.”

“Well, I'm not planning on jumping out of a moving lorry. So I s'pose we'll see.” He shrugged, though was a little glad for the opportunity to stay around them. “It won't hurt me any to at least make sure you lot actually make it home.” 

On the cusp of thanking him yet again, Aziraphale refrained to spare him whatever mortification gratitude seemed to inspire in Crowley. He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the littlest kitten, nudging him over to his siblings as they waited with wide-eyed curiosity. The shock of nearly falling out of the lorry themselves clearly affected them as well, so he allowed them to pounce and bat at Wensleydale to do their own version of checking over that ended with Adam flopping atop him as all four devolved into a fit of giggles.

Aziraphale shifted his gaze from his kittens to examine their mode of transportation with a more discerning eye as the excitement of near-disaster faded. “You said the gentleman driving us is a milkman?” he asked Crowley, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the kittens’ attention too prematurely.

“Yeah. Thought you and the kittens could do with some breakfast.” He had no idea why Aziraphale had lowered his voice, but spoke just as quietly for him. He nodded his head towards a cloth-covered something near the middle of the lorry’s bed. “That tall one should have cream in it.” 

“Oh, good.” He was already feeling a bit peckish himself, and could only imagine how thrilled the kittens would be to have some food in their bellies. He couldn’t even remember having dinner the night before. As Aziraphale looked over the covered jug, an idea occurred to him that nearly had him purring.

“I have an idea. Children! My dears, gather close. That’s it.” He beamed at them as they settled down in front of them, even if Brian and Pepper were swatting at each other. At least they didn’t have their claws out. “Now, is anyone hungry?”

Wensleydale nodded. “Actually, I am quite hungry.”

“I could eat,” Brian added, then wrinkled his nose. “As long as it isn’t _paté_.”

“Right. Paté's rubbish,” Adam agreed, looking curiously at the two adult cats, wondering just what they had in store for them.

“What does it matter if we’re hungry anyway?” Pepper asked, tail flicking in annoyance. “It’s not like food’s just gonna turn up because we asked for it.” Even if that’s what normally happened at home. They weren’t at home, they were in a lorry in the middle of not-London, so in Pepper’s mind, her logic still stood.

“Maybe,” Adam huffed, willing to give Aziraphale a chance. “How do we get something to eat, papa?”

“ _Magic_.”

It took every single ounce of self-control in Crowley's body not to audibly laugh, scoff, or otherwise deride the complete and utter delight in the ridiculous word. _Magic_. Really. He did sprawl across the floor to watch, though. It could be amusing. 

The kittens, however, seemed to think otherwise. At least two of them, at any rate. “Not one of your tricks _again_ ,” Pepper sighed, Wensleydale making a similar face of disapproval.

“Hush, dear girl. Magic is _fun_.” Aziraphale didn’t lose a shred of his enthusiasm, if anything, he was getting more excited.

“Only if you do it properly, which you _don’t_ ,” she complained.

“Actually, papa, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not very hungry at all.”

“C’mon. I want to see what the trick is,” Adam piped up when their papa’s ears began to droop. “What sort of magic is it?”

The honest curiosity in Adam and Brian’s eyes encouraged Aziraphale to continue. “One that requires a magic _spell_ ,” he told them, using his best mystical voice.

“Good Lord.” Pepper rolled her eyes as two of her brothers shushed her.

“First you must wiggle your nose, like so.” Aziraphale demonstrated, two of the kittens doing so without any prompting while the other two sighed and reluctantly followed suit. “Then tickle your chin-”

“Does Mr. Crowley have to do the spell, too?” Brian interrupted, glancing over at him.

“Only if he wants some breakfast.” Aziraphale grinned cheekily.

Crowley grinned back. He really didn't mean to, as glittering sharp, white teeth in a black face tended to be off-putting, but it happened as immediately as the purring had by the river. “I've eaten already. Keep doing your spell, angel.” 

“If we have to do the spell, he should, too,” Pepper grumbled, ears flattening when Adam nudged her.

“Right, now where was I? Ah, yes. Under the chin, that’s it. Now close your eyes. All the way please, Pepper. Ah- Brian, no peeking.” Aziraphale shook his head, waiting until each kitten followed his instructions. “Cross your hearts, then say the magic words. ‘Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo-’ oh, wait. Apologies, wrong adaptation. Ahem. Right, repeat after me, children. ‘Double, double toil and trouble.’”

“‘Double, double, toil, and trouble,ʼ” Adam and Brian echoed eagerly.

“‘Fire burn and caldron bubble.’” Aziraphale waited for them to repeat it, but then faltered with his next line. “‘Cool it with-’ ah… er…” He blinked. The rest of Shakespeare’s verse did not actually apply to what they were doing, nor did it sound particularly appetizing when they were about to eat. “Um… a- a cow’s fresh cream, yes.”

“‘Cool it with a cow’s fresh cream.’” Even Wensleydale and Pepper were licking their lips in anticipation now, finally chiming in, even if it was more of a drawl than a proper recitation.

Aziraphale let it go for the time being. Two out of four wasn’t bad, and he’d learned to take what he could get from the kittens. “‘Then the charm will seem more than a dream!’” When they repeated the final verse, he tugged the cover off from the tallest jug of cream. “Alright, my dears, open thine eyes! Breakfast is served!”

Adam and Brian, of course, were suitably impressed. The other two were firmly in reality. “Actually, did we _really_ need to do all of that when it was just under a blanket?” 

At that, Crowley smothered mirthful snickers against a paw. Aziraphale really had just seemed too delighted to be able to perform a trick. The complete disbelief in Wensleydale's very practical question and in Pepper's lifted brows was just a hair too much. He had quite the pawful of personality in this little quartet. 

“It wasn't under the blanket,” Adam argued, tone quite certain. “We did it with magic.” 

“Well, what was under the blanket before?” Pepper demanded, equally certain. 

“Poison!” Brian suggested cheerfully, taking in everything they'd gone through since their arts lesson. “His lorry didn't have any letters on the side and he hates cats, like a proper wicked villain. It had to be poison.” 

“No, no, it- it wasn’t poison. It just wasn’t cream.” Oh, wait, he hadn’t thought this through. Aziraphale nudged the lid off of the jug so they had easy access to it, helping Wensleydale up so he could reach. “Just eat up, children. It’s been some time since your last meal and you’ll need your strength for the rest of the journey.”

Adam, too curious to let it lie, asked, “What was it if it wasn't cream or poison?” 

When Aziraphale looked flustered, Crowley took some pity on him. “Milk,” he lied easily. “Obviously. The spell just turned it into cream.” Wensleydale and Pepper both looked up, prepared to argue, and Crowley gave them an almost imperceptible head shake they correctly interpreted as, “You're right, but let them have their fun.” And, well, food was there and their bellies were rather empty, so the argument faded in favour of lapping up the fresh cream. It could wait for papa's next rubbish magic attempts. 

Crowley’s fond gaze shifted from them to Aziraphale and somehow the dratted purring started up again. He just looked so disgruntled and it was probably the sweetest thing he'd ever seen, a terrible liar attempting to play tricks with Shakespeare. Just absolute rubbish. 

Aziraphale's tail swished back and forth, though he seemed pleased enough that the kittens were eating. Tempted as he was to join them, his own appetite stirred by the smell of fresh cream, he let them have their fill first. Besides, it would be rude for them all to eat in front of Crowley.

“What's that look for?” he asked, sashaying over to sit beside him, a little bit prissy, tail still twitching. 

“What look? There's no look,” he denied, pushing himself up to sit. “You hungry, angel?” 

“I’ll wait until they’re finished.” Aziraphale nodded at the kittens, cringing as he watched Brian splatter himself in cream. “When it’s less of a warzone.”

“Right. I've got another option for you.” Crowley lifted a paw and carefully plucked his bandana around to a spot where he could duck his head and nose into what looked like a stitched on patch. It turned out to be a pocket and he withdrew a biscuit, handmade by one of the nuns and one of his favorite things about visiting St. Beryl's. He made a little questioning sound around the end of it, offering it to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale gasped, astounded by the little pocket this cat had and the ability to carry around treats. “Oh, but I couldn't possibly-” he started, but the sight of the treat had his stomach protesting its emptiness, and Crowley wouldn't be offering if he didn't mean it, right? “Are you certain?” When Crowley gave him a pointed look, Aziraphale leaned in and took the other end of the biscuit daintily between his teeth.

Oh, he hadn't thought this through. Those stunning blue eyes were entirely too close, that rumbling purr starting all over again despite his best efforts to stop. He quickly let go of the biscuit and pushed back, trying to look anywhere else but never quite able to make his gaze entirely leave all that white fluff. “Right. Ah. I've got a couple more, so... There you go.” 

Aziraphale gingerly lowered it, resting it against his paws so it wouldn’t touch the floor of the lorry and nibbled at it. There wasn’t much protein in it, hardly the shredded chicken and flaked fish Madame Tracy instructed Gabriel to feed them, but it was incredibly thoughtful that he’d share what little he had with complete strangers. He licked his lips to clear some of the buttery crumbs and offered him a smile.

“It’s very good. Wherever did you pick them up?” he asked, settling down as he ate.

“Satanic nuns.” 

Aziraphale nearly choked on a crumb. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, y'know.” He waved a paw before flopping down, able to see the kittens and their papa easily enough. “They've got a convent nearby and it's a safe enough spot to wait out rainstorms if everyone else calls you a bad luck charm.” 

“I see. Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Aziraphale hummed, polishing off the rest of the biscuit. He licked his paws clean once he was finished, also using them to fluff up the fur around his face a bit. “I don’t see why anyone would think of you as a bad luck charm though. From where I’m sitting, you’ve only brought us good luck.”

Crowley watched him like he'd never seen anything so fascinating in his entire life. “I'm a black cat. Bad luck is what I am.” His tail flicked dismissively as if it wasn't his biggest problem. “To humans, anyway.” 

Blue eyes blinked under the scrutiny, lashes fluttering with a beguiling sort of air as he realised he didn't really mind the attention. “Well, not to me,” he said decisively, then nodded in the kittens' direction. “Or them. If it weren't for you, we might still be under that bridge. No closer to returning to our dear Madame.”

“Well... You didn't shoo me away, so why not help a bit?” He wiggled a little, glancing at the kittens and back, and was very ready to stop talking about himself. “How'd you end up with them, anyway? Would've expected them to be with their mum.” 

“Yes, one would think that's where they ought to be.” Aziraphale followed his gaze to watch Pepper swat at Brian for splashing her on accident. It was always an accident with poor Brian. “Madame Tracy, my human, found them abandoned on the side of the road one day and took all four of them in. Didn't even think of doing anything else. And she trusted me to help look after them. They were so small then, so helpless… It's hard to imagine now, I know, but it's true. And, well, the least I could do was keep them warm while my Madame took care of the rest.”

That made far more sense than anything else Crowley's mind had conjured. “So now you're papa to four rambunctious kittens. Your human sounds generous.” 

“Oh, remarkably generous,” Aziraphale sighed wistfully, missing her presence with a sudden, sharp longing. He almost still expected her firm, loving strokes along his back as she chatted about her plans for the day, like his opinion was just as important to her as any human, perhaps even more so. “She’s the one who started them on ‘papa,’ I believe. Referring to me as that around them. At first I wasn’t sure I could live up to such a moniker. I didn’t know the first thing about raising kittens, and yet she had faith in me. Which I’m very glad she did. I can’t imagine my life without them now. Rambunctious as they can be. Claws in, my dear!” he called out, making sure they knew that just because he was having a chinwag didn’t mean that he wasn’t still watching them. “No swatting with claws now.”

“Yes, papa,” was the unhappily sighed response. 

Crowley chuckled, low and wickedly amused. “Hellions.” 

“Truly.” Aziraphale shook his head, but shared an equally amused glance with him once the kittens weren’t looking. “But someone’s got to keep them in line.”

“Better you than someone who doesn't care. They seem to mind you well enough.” 

“Do they? Sometimes I think so, but sometimes…” Aziraphale sighed, settling into a loaf position, paws tucked under all his fluff. “I just hope I don’t do the wrong thing with them. With raising them.”

“Oh, you're an angel. I don't think you can do the wrong thing.” 

Though he’d been calling him that since they’d met - literally since he first strutted up to him - it finally sank in as he began to purr. The petname was a familiar one, what his Madame always called him since he’d been a kitten himself, so he hadn’t paid it much mind until he realised Crowley really had no reason to call him an angel. No reason except that it was honestly what he thought.

“Oh? Oh, thank you,” he replied earnestly through the purring, his tail swishing so it brushed against Crowley’s sleeker, black tail. “It’s been bothering me. It’s nice to have someone to talk with about this.”

“You've got a bit of time for it, if you like. Between the bouts of parenting.” Crowley moved a little closer, tucking his legs securely under himself as he unconsciously mimicked the purrs. It was nice to have someone to talk to at all, really. “You know Shakespeare?” 

“Yes. Madame has an extensive library. I've read all his plays and sonnets.” Aziraphale cocked his head to the side. “You're familiar with his works?” 

“Mmhm. I prefer the funny ones, but theatres usually have the best mice and the darkest corners to hide in.” And he liked the crowds, enjoyed feeling their energy. London didn't always feel lonely. “I've heard them all, anyway. You read?” 

“Yes, when one has a lot of time on their… well, paws, I suppose, one looks for hobbies to indulge in. I found books to be fascinating, a way to experience what the world has to offer without having to go too far. Though I suppose that might sound silly to someone like yourself. I imagine the kind of life you lead lends itself to all sorts of adventures.”

“I do alright. I just have different hobbies.” Unable to sit still, he rolled onto his side and let his paw pads rest against Aziraphale's pretty white fur. He liked the contrast. “And you've managed to find yourself on an adventure of your own, haven't you? A mystery, even. It's all your kittens'll talk about for weeks.” 

“Yes. Or until Gabriel's latest antics,” he mused, turning thoughtful. “Though it's still very concerning how we ended up out here to begin with. We never leave home without Madame or Gabriel. And no one certainly comes in aside from the occasional guest, but we weren’t expecting anyone after Mr. Shadwell.”

“Small pool of suspects, then, for a catnapping.” It was like touching the softest, warmest of blankets, so Crowley couldn't resist gentle kneading. “Who’s Gabriel?”

“Our butler.” Aziraphale let him knead, quietly amused by it, and honestly it felt quite nice. The steady pressure of his paws against him. “Well, Madame's butler.”

“Of _course_ you have a butler.” Very uptown. It suited his- _the_ angel. No need to get ridiculous. “Who's this Shadwell then?” 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, whiskers twitching. “Madame Tracy's solicitor and someone whom she calls a dear friend. Though he is a bit of an… acquired taste.”

Crowley laughed, eyes shining with a wicked amusement. It was the first time he'd seen him less than polite, and it was delightful. “Haven't acquired it, have you?” 

“Not really, no.” Aziraphale shifted enough, so Crowley could reach a better spot, but pretended he was just lifting his chin in indignation. “He thinks cats are the tools of witches, and whenever he does pet me, he does it _wrong_.”

Recognising just what he was aiming for, Crowley shifted himself closer and continued to knead. He could empathize with being called a witch's tool. “Too rough with you?” 

“Yes. And pushes my fur the wrong way.” Despite his complaining, his purrs rumbled louder at the close contact. “It's dreadful.”

“Oh, I'm sure it is,” he hummed, only teasing a little. “I don't normally let humans touch me. Nuns had to corner me to get the bandana on.” 

“What nuns?” Adam asked, Crowley's fur briefly standing on end before he looked up. All four of them were a close, rapt little audience. Brian was still dripping with cream, though Pepper had nearly managed to clean herself up. 

“Satanic ones,” he replied easily, seeing no reason not to be as frank with them as he'd been with their papa. 

The fluffy girl looked suspicious. “You got your bandana from satanic nuns?” 

“Why?” Brian wondered. 

Crowley rolled onto his stomach again and sat up, tail flicking behind him. “Because they're ridiculous things who believe I'm in league with the devil.” 

“Are you, actually?” 

Chuckling, Crowley shook his head. He loved their curiosity. It was so refreshing. “I'm on my own side.” 

“Is that so?” Aziraphale hummed, amused by the way he indulged the kittens, then got up to drag Brian over and clean him up a bit. 

“What does that mean? Being on your own side?” the cream-coated kitten asked. 

“I think it means instead of being in league with something like the devil, he's just in league with himself,” Adam reasoned. “And he doesn't have to answer to anyone but himself. Right?” 

“That sums it up, you smart lad.” Crowley rose and circled them, three of the four kittens twisting this way and that to watch him. It could've been a predatory move, like a slinking snake, but something about it wasn't frightening at all. “And what about the four of you little ones? Quite the gang you've got.” 

“We’re the Them,” Adam said proudly. “At least, that’s what Gabriel calls us. And we only answer to ourselves, too. And papa sometimes.”

“Adam’s our leader,” Brian piped up, eager to be included even if he was in the middle of a bath. “He comes up with all the best games. And I’m Brian. I’m the oldest.”

“You don’t know that,” Pepper scoffed. “None of us knows what order we were born in.”

“That’s Pepper. She’s the most difficult actually,” Wensleydale told Crowley, receiving a glare from his sister in response. “And I’m Wensleydale.”

What a hodgepodge of names. Their generous human must've also been a shade of crazy, but Crowley appreciated that. Their names made sense for the way they each were. He shifted his amused gaze to Aziraphale, catching a reflection of his own feelings in lovely blue eyes, and the purring started up again. It was humiliating, but he ignored it and sprawled on his side across from him with the kittens tucked between them. 

They had a long ride ahead of them, so he decided to give a piece of himself away to their curiosity. “Are you the sort of gang who listens to stories?” 

“What kind of a story?” Adam wondered, sitting promptly. The other two followed suit. A good sign. 

“One about Hellhounds.” 

“Are they _actually_ Hellhounds?” 

“Well, they lurk about the cemetery next to a Satanic convent with great gnashing teeth and a constant reek of rot, so I would call them that. They're just not very bright.” 

“Do they have names?” Pepper asked, another good sign. 

“Hastur and Ligur,” he replied, adding a bit of a growl to each name. He had something of a flare for the dramatic but never before had there been a rapt audience. Four eager faces, five if one counted Aziraphale and Crowley certainly did. Like with the magic spell, there was something childish in him under all that posh coziness. They had such a short ride, in the grand scheme of things, so he didn't think he'd learn nearly as much about him as he wanted, but that was probably for the best. 

Anthony J. Crowley was, according to all who'd met him before, a demon. Demons probably shouldn't fraternize with angels.

He still hunkered down to tell them one of his stories. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> The whole time I was doing the last edits of this chapter, one of my own cats was in the background pacing and yelling or in my lap bunting NY hands in search of pets 🤣 Why are cats
> 
> Skim  
> You misspelled "my." Unless he was bunting the hands of New York, lol
> 
> Syl  
> Listen, it's difficult to make notes on a phone 🤣🥰

It had been a long night for the two mice in the mansion. The storm had affected them as it had Aziraphale and the kittens, and they'd been as worried as the Madame. They were drenched and exhausted when they stumbled into the stables the next morning, and the helpful mare dropped some warm hay she'd been saving as if she'd known they'd need a place to dry off. 

Knowing her, she had. 

“No luck,” Anathema told her needlessly, wringing out the useless hat Newt had given her at some point. Her curly dark fur was dripping wet. “Not a single sign of them.” 

“The oddest thing,” Newt sighed, flopping into the hay with little plan of how he'd get dry but hopeful it would happen just the same. “Disappearing out of nowhere. Odd.” 

The mare nickered, shaking her head miserably. “I warned the little golden one this past morn. When the storm does strike upon the manor’s window pane, no glass beyond thy curtain be and the river thou dost see will be the same in a different place.”

Newt blinked at her, exchanging glances with Anathema as he wrung out his tail. “Er…”

“They woke up outside on the water,” Anathema supplied, sitting back and humming. “I just don't know who would kidnap them...”

“Catnap,” Newt supplied, smile sheepish when she glared at him. If he had glasses, he would've nervously straightened them. 

“Okay, but we still don't know who would do this... Madame's so sad.”

“Everyone is,” Newt pointed out, patting her arm soothingly. 

Everyone except the butler, who walked in to do a few chores with a happy hum and a blinding smile uncharacteristic to him. _Especially_ when in the stables. 

It couldn't be. The mice exchanged glances. Or could it? 

\----

It didn't take long for four busy kittens, used to having an enormous house to roam and scheduled activities in place, to grow restless with the small lorry. Even Adam, who always came up with the best games, was struggling to find inspiration. They'd played Hellhounds twice already. The alley cat, despite a few brief moments of cool and the potential for more stories, wasn't really living up to their expectations. They would've preferred someone dangerous and growling all the time, not someone who didn't seem to want to leave their papa's side. 

“Another deluded victim of the patriarchy,” Pepper had lamented, never minding that they were both male. One was their papa and the other was, in their eyes, besotted and apparently pretending very badly not to be. Papa, as often was the case, was a little harder to read. He was obviously the patriarchy and Crowley was the deluded victim. 

But even trying to decipher that got boring because, frankly, four kittens were not very interested in the ideas of romance. They wanted action. 

Though perhaps they should've been a little careful with what they wished for. Just under an hour into their ride, Crowley realised that the driver had taken a different turn than normal. And a few minutes after he'd murmured that worrying information to Aziraphale, the kittens apparently decided - quite unintentionally, honest - that they were done being quiet. 

It was a chain reaction. Brian stepped on Wensleydale's tail, who yelped and leapt right into Pepper, who stumbled over Adam, who rolled right into the covered milk bottles. They clinked and clattered and then rapped into one of the metal jugs. The sound reverberated through the lorry, close enough to the cab that their driver heard it. 

He swore, loudly, and Crowley's ears went flat when the vehicle turned sharply and began to slow. “I'll distract him. You take the kittens and run.” 

“Perhaps we can attempt to reason with him,” Aziraphale urged, though he still corralled the kittens closer to the lorry's opening. “Surely once he realises we're perfectly harmless, he'll leave us alone.”

“Angel, he won't give us a chance to prove we're harmless.” 

“And we're not either,” Pepper said with relish. “We have claws.” 

“That we will not be using on anyone,” Aziraphale countered. 

There was no time for the arguments that rushed to at least three of the four kittens - Wensleydale just checking to make sure he did, in fact, still have his claws - before the yelling started. “Cats!” the milkman shouted as he rounded the corner. “In _my_ bleeding lorry! You filthy things. I'll-” He didn't have a chance to decide what he'd do with them, Crowley’s growling meow catching his attention. “You again! You mangy tramp! I'll fix ya! Got a bat with your name on it, you-” 

He whipped right around to return to the cab, still muttering his insults and threats, and Crowley turned around. “Come on, angel,” he urged and plucked Adam up by the scruff. Leader or not, he was the second-smallest and they needed long strides. He left Wensleydale for Aziraphale as he leapt out of the lorry, Pepper and Brian hot on their heels. 

They ran, the milkman hurling threats and rocks and anything else he could until they were safe and sound in a boat shed by the water. Crowley didn't put Adam down until he heard the lorry start again, then poked his head out to see it driving off. “Well, that went down like a lead balloon. Everyone accounted for?” 

A chorus of affirmations came from the kittens, all huddling together against Aziraphale until Adam bravely stepped forward to stand beside Crowley and watch the lorry until it disappeared. 

An inky black tail slipped protectively around him, automatic and easy, as if it always had and always would. And Pepper huffed. “That was unnecessarily cruel, and I do not endorse it.” 

“Yes, it was,” Aziraphale agreed once he set Wensleydale down. “We were hardly causing any trouble, and to call us filthy…” He puffed up in irritation. 

“Actually, Brian's the only one who's filthy,” the littlest kitten pointed out. “We're quite clean.” 

“And he called us tramps.” Brian's ears drooped, taking more offense to that than to any comments on his cleanliness. “Madame and Gabriel and Mr. Shadwell never talk to us like that.”

“Well, not all humans are exactly decent. I've learned to live with them.” Crowley rose, standing over Adam as he checked this way and that before he trotted out. “Come on. It'll take me a minute to figure out where exactly we are.” 

The kittens scampered out after him, Aziraphale trailing a bit behind to make sure all four stayed within his sight. He also wanted to stay behind them so they couldn't see how rattled he was. Even if he could be a bit picky about which humans touched him or interacted with him, he'd never had anyone talk down to him like that. He just didn't expect that sort of thing from _people_. It wasn't at all a pleasant feeling, being yelled at in such a way. 

Aziraphale looked down the road where the lorry had disappeared and flattened his ears. That bad human. He stood over Pepper as he stopped beside Crowley, gaze drifting from the road to scan for the nearest sign.

“Any idea how far off course we are?” he asked. 

Crowley sniffed the air, breathing in fish and little else. There were a few fishing villages, but he could usually recognise them. He liked to kip in and steal some of their bounty. Being called a demon was not entirely out of line, of course. Wouldn't be any fun otherwise. This village, though he didn't know its name, was no exception. Humans wouldn't be kind if they went into the village proper, but they thankfully didn't need to. 

“We're not bad off. He's got us halfway to London, so now we'll just need to follow the river. There's a bridge we can cross at that's not too far.” He leaned over, licking just behind one of Aziraphale’s flat ears. “Don't worry, angel,” he murmured. “It'll be late, but I'll get you lot home. Someone has to keep you from getting into trouble.” 

Aziraphale looked over at him, something warm and light spreading through his chest from more than just the kindness being shown to them. “To help me with the kittens, to keep them from getting into trouble, surely.” Because Aziraphale himself never caused any trouble, obviously.

“Right. Has nothing, at all, to do with your first instinct being _reasoning_ with humans.” 

“That’s hardly causing trouble. If anything I’m attempting to prevent it,” he huffed. “Humans can listen to reason. Sometimes.”

“Maybe, but you have to know how to figure out who.” Amused by him, Crowley did a quick headcount of kittens and started to saunter off. “Come on, kids. London's waiting.” 

“Are we going to walk the whole way?” Brian wondered, tripping over his own paws when he quickly made to follow. 

Crowley righted him with a fond nudge. “There won't be a safe ride around this town, so we'll walk for now and see what happens later.” 

“That’s alright. We can pretend we’re on an archaeological expedition in Egypt, and this river here is actually the Nile,” Adam spun his tale excitedly, piquing the interest of his siblings. “And we have to follow it in order to find the pyramid full of lost treasures.”

“Will we have to fight bandits on the way?” Brian asked.

“Loads,” Adam confirmed.

“Just make sure you don’t follow these bandits too closely to the river’s edge,” Aziraphale instructed, watching them as they bounded ahead of him and Crowley.

“Of course not. The river’s cursed. We wouldn’t dare.” Adam lifted a paw and crossed his heart with it to appease their papa, and the other three followed suit.

Crowley smiled as they scampered, tail flicking as he sauntered alongside Aziraphale's more precise trot. “They're smart little things.” 

Aziraphale puffed up with pride, pleased that Crowley could also appreciate the kittens’ energy. “Very clever. And creative. They come up with the most interesting ways to pass the time.”

He nodded, charmed by the extra little puff in an already fluffy frame. His twitchy tail briefly twined around Aziraphale's. “I'm sure you read to them? That must be encouraging their imaginations.” 

“Oh yes. We study literature at least twice a week, but I want them to be well-rounded and explore all possible interests, so we also have history lessons, art and music, and psychology, of course.” A pensive look crossed his face, rubbing up against Crowley’s side briefly as they walked. “I’ve tried introducing sums, but I’m afraid it’s rather a waste of effort. I’m not the best when it comes to maths.”

“Well, speaking from experience, maths aren't really needed beyond the basics. Can't imagine how necessary it'd be living in an actual house.” 

“I have always found them to be rather pointless,” Aziraphale agreed. “I don’t believe they’re missing out on anything too important.”

“Nah. The rest of it sounds alright, though. Everything I've ever learned has just come from roaming about and listening to things, so they probably have more facts in them than I do.” He weaved a little closer just to feel Aziraphale rub against him again, newfound purrs erupting once more. “They're lucky they've got you.” 

“Oh- well, you’re just saying that.” Though why he would say that simply to reassure Aziraphale was beyond him. They hardly even knew each other.

But that hardly seemed to matter as they walked together, flitting from topic to topic as they kept an eye each on the children. It was easy to talk to Crowley, Aziraphale realised. Even if they had slightly different viewpoints on humanity and experiences that shaped them, they found they also had quite a bit of common ground. Aziraphale was enthralled by the stories Crowley had to tell about the streets of London and his nights spent in West End theatres, and Crowley seemed to find equal enjoyment debating philosophies and schools of thought Aziraphale had come across in all his reading. For a stray and a housecat, who should've disagreed on much more, they actually got on rather well. More than well, if they were both reading the mood correctly.

Of course, it was a mood that was difficult to focus on when there were kittens afoot, but if anything it only added to the growing fondness blooming between them. Crowley could easily recapture the kittens’ interest in him with suggestions for their adventure, which didn’t completely make up for his lack of scratching and hissing, but the thought of working alongside a large group of rodents to infiltrate the bandits’ camp and steal the missing piece of the map that they needed was a welcome addition, especially when it reminded them of their dear Anathema and Newt back home. Aziraphale found his willingness to play along and help entertain the kittens on their walk to be rather charming, enjoying the twists to the pretend game as well.

Then they came to the bridge. It was an old railroad bridge suspended high above the river that had dipped down into the crevices between the hills. Aziraphale placed a paw out to stop the kittens from climbing right onto the tracks, checking both ways first.

“Is this the only way across?” he asked Crowley.

“Well... There's a ferry we can sneak onto closer to London, but this cuts travel time down by a good hour. It'll take even longer if we get caught.” He shrugged, lifting a paw. “It'll be easier for me to nab a fish or two for dinner on that side too.” 

“I'd like to cross,” Pepper said, gazing at the rails curiously. “Can we, papa? We'll be careful.” 

“We will, actually!” Wensleydale bounced on his paws. “Can we?” 

“We won’t fall,” Adam promised while Brian nodded in agreement.

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow, tail twitching as he looked between four eager faces. “I suppose if it cuts down travel time…” he mused. “But you must all promise to be on your very best behaviour. Be as careful as you can be.”

“Can we play train while we’re being careful?” Adam asked.

“If you can manage both, I don’t see why not.” It would give them something to focus on and hopefully keep their attention away from trying to jump on the tracks or look over the edge.

Crowley listened to them cheer, watching as carefully as Aziraphale as they delicately lined up on a beam - Adam, Pepper, Wensleydale, and “Brian's the caboose!” Adam announced, though the striped kitten didn't seem displeased about it. 

As they plugged along the tracks, making train sounds, Crowley tried very hard to keep his attention on the horizon to watch for any incoming traffic, but his focus drifted between the Them and Aziraphale. He wondered just how he'd never purred before when it seemed to be all he was capable of now. “Do they ever run out of energy?” 

“Only when they’re asleep,” Aziraphale sighed, but the little smile revealed that it was just another endearing quirk to his kittens. “Running amok one minute, then in a snap, it’s like they can barely keep their eyes open. Though Adam’s a sneaky one. Sometimes he pretends to be asleep even when he isn’t. I’ve caught him up late reading his magazine clippings on numerous occasions.”

“A habit I'll wager he's picked up from you,” Crowley said. “What sort-” 

The train whistle shocked him, loud and monstrous. The tracks started to rattle under their paws, and the kittens' game suddenly seemed a lot more terrifying than fun. “Don't panic, just get under the bridge,” Crowley instructed and surged forward to grab Brian when the clumsy boy slipped more than jumped.

Aziraphale grabbed little Wensleydale, trusting the other two to leap down to a safe section of beams that made up the train's bridge. Adam and Brian were the best jumpers, so a special eye was kept on Pepper as the little group clustered together. Crowley wrapped them up tight, keeping what they thought was two little ones between the two adults while the train chugged overhead. It shook them, rattling them straight to the bones, but Aziraphale and Crowley clung to one another as well as the kittens while train car after train car passed overhead. 

Finally, blessedly, the caboose passed them by, and Crowley's hold relaxed. He climbed up quick and easy, depositing Brian on the tracks, then took Pepper by the scruff to get her up quick and safe too. 

Aziraphale set Wensleydale down beside Brian just as Pepper was brought up, when the fourth kitten's soft outcries and softer splashing could finally be heard in the wake of the deafening train. The adults both looked over the edge, watching the golden-furred kitten bobbing in the river, struggling to keep his head above water. “Papa!” Adam shouted, spluttering. 

“Bugger,” Crowley breathed, not giving himself a chance to change his mind before he was leaping from the bridge. 

He hated water, hated it more when the landing disoriented him for a few precious seconds, and he kicked in a desperate and uncoordinated way up to the surface. Gasping for air, he looked around and saw the kitten just as he slipped below the water. He kicked and wiggled his way over, nabbing Adam by the scruff and hauling him up. Crowley's front legs got thrown over a log, floating close by like a miracle, claws sinking into the soft wood as he clung for both their sakes. It wasn't quite even or quite strong enough, so it was a precarious thing. 

Crowley really hated the water. 

He looked up when he heard his and Adam's names, called in equal desperation, and saw Aziraphale running across the riverbank with three worried kittens trailing behind. 

“Papa!” Adam coughed, Crowley nearly slipping from the log just from the sheer relief in knowing the little boy was okay. “Papa, we're over here!” 

The adults seemed to notice an overhang of stone and tree at the same time, Aziraphale leaping onto it and Crowley doing his best to steer the log beneath it. They only had one chance, so Crowley braced himself against the unsteady log and threw Adam upwards with all the force he could muster. 

He was too low for Aziraphale to catch by the scruff, but with a swipe of his paw, he caught him against his front leg and bobbled him up to nab him. With Adam safely secured in his mouth, Aziraphale looked for Crowley still bobbing in the water. The river was already carrying him away, so he scurried down from his perch and set the soggy kitten down in the grass.

“Stay put!” he demanded of all four as the others caught up, then dashed along the bank to see if there was any way to pull Crowley to safety. The cat who saved the life of his kitten without a second thought. “Crowley! Crowley, dearest, hold on!” 

“Wasn't planning on letting go!” he snapped in return, even while looking over his shoulder to see if there was anything sturdier to latch onto. A rock or _something_. 

Aziraphale paused to give him a look. “Well, you don't have to get snippy with me,” he huffed, then dashed ahead to try to climb another overhanging branch, but it was no use. It was too far for Crowley to angle the log towards and Aziraphale couldn't even begin to reach him from there. “I'm afraid it's no use, my dear. We'll have to meet you downstream, I think, where the river narrows. Let's get a wiggle on!” 

The log wobbled dangerously, but Crowley just had to give him an incredulous look of his own. “Wot?!” 

“I said we'll meet you downstream, so just hang on until then!” Aziraphale called back. 

“I heard that. It was the 'wiggle on,'” he muttered, knowing Aziraphale couldn't hear him over the water. It didn't help, too, that his log got caught in a little riptide that swung him around. At least he could see what was ahead of him.

Hopefully that meant he could find a way out sooner rather than later. 

When the current finally slowed, the river reaching a narrower point, he crashed into a rock. The log splintered and he latched onto the stone, claws scraping against the slick surface as he tried to pull himself onto it. He just wanted out of the water to get his bearings. 

He almost had it when _they_ arrived. Two ducks circled him, talking all the while. Under normal circumstances - and if he was _very_ hungry - he might've chased one of them down for a meal. As it was, he just needed them to go away. 

“Now you'll never learn to swim like that.” 

He faltered mid-snarl. “Wot.” 

“Yes, yes.” Wings rustled through the water, head bobbing in agreement. “Quite right. Never will learn like this, will you?” 

“I'm not-” 

“You should let go.” 

“No-” 

“Wouldn't dream of not helping.” 

“I don't need-” Crowley flinched when their wings opened in unison, obviously aiming to brush him right off the rock, but the jolt upset his precarious hold anyway and sent him swirling right into the water. 

The ducks chuckled, watching him slip twice beneath the depths. “Oh, lookit 'im, Mary. Takes to it like a fish.” 

“He certainly does that. Perhaps...” He wasn't coming back up after a third dip. “A little too well?” 

Alarmed glances were exchanged and they delved beneath the surface to scoop the black cat out of the water and paddled him over to the riverbank. Out of pure spite, ignoring their dotty compliments on his attempts to swim, he nearly broke away from them twice just to drown in peace. 

On dry land, he made to snarl at them as he shook out his fur, but his own name had the expression fading and four kittens - oh, thank somebody it was four - bounced around his dripping frame.

“You ever done that before?” 

“Did it hurt when you jumped in?” 

“Did you see any fish?” 

“Are those actually ducks?” 

Their questions tumbled over each other's, so he simply sat and started to groom the water away. Answering rapid-fire questions just seemed exhausting when he was still trying to breathe. But he did have one of his own. “Alright, Adam?” 

“Alright now, thanks to you.” Adam stepped closer, still very wet himself, no time to dry off when they had to make sure Crowley made it to shore. “Are you okay?”

Crowley hooked a paw around him and drew him close enough to duck down and nuzzle between his ears. “I'm fine, you little hellion. Little bit of water can't hurt me.” 

“Actually, it was quite a lot of water,” Wensleydale told him. “Most cats would drown.”

“And we’re very lucky that he didn’t.” Aziraphale trotted up to him, looking between both of the drenched cats. He lowered his head to nuzzle Adam first, then bumped the top of his head against Crowley’s chin. “Seems you have a bit of a heroic streak in you, my dear.”

“Not really,” he denied through the purrs the little bunt had caused. “Somebody had to go get him, that's all.” 

Aziraphale would normally have been embarrassed by the amount of affection he was showing a fellow full grown cat, especially by the way his heart shone bright in his eyes. But this wasn't an ordinary situation, and Crowley was making sure to show Aziraphale that he was no ordinary cat either. Partly out of gratitude, and partly because he was still dripping wet, Aziraphale gave his cheek a lick and then fluffed up his fur before ducking out of embarrassment, masking it by scooping up Adam by the scruff.

He set him down so he could help him dry off, despite protests that he could do it himself, ignoring him in favour of addressing the pair of ducks gossiping to each other in earnest. “My sincerest gratitude, dear ladies. Thank you for helping our Crowley to shore.”

“Oh, of _course_ , don't you worry about a thing.” 

“We were 'appy to 'elp! And such lovely little kittens you have. Just adorable.” 

Crowley scoffed to himself, the pair the only reason he didn't just melt into a feline puddle. The little lick had made leaping into the water extra worthwhile. He'd do it a dozen more times just to rescue Adam, but the special affection was going to stay with him long after they parted ways again. 

The three dry kittens were more willing to be grateful to the ducks than Crowley was, none of them having been those close to any mallards before. Brian quietly pointed at their rubbery feet, making Pepper grin and Wensleydale wiggle. “Actually, Papa likes to say we're rascals.” 

The ducks looked between the kittens and the two grown cats, not quite sure which of the two they meant. Kittens didn't necessarily have to look like either parent, but these four were all very different from the two. Wensleydale was the only close one, but his black and white fur was a mix between the two and no help at all. Their heads bobbed, wings ruffling as they gave up. 

“And are you? Rascals, that is.” 

Pepper's short tail flicked in a good mimicry of Crowley's. “Oh, yes.” 

Crowley couldn't help the chuckle, though he was a bit miffed as he removed his bandana to dump the ruined biscuits out of the pocket. With a small headshake, he carried it to the river to wash it out, and the two ducks leaned closed to one another. “A black cat, Mary, d'you see?” 

“Oh, I see, Theresa, I see. My word. Do you suppose he knows?” 

“Well, 'ow could he not, you silly thing?” 

They weren't quiet enough for three keen-eared kittens. “He's a good luck black cat, I reckon,” Brian piped up. 

“Yes,” Wensleydale agreed. “He saved me from falling off a truck and- and he saved Adam from the river. Papa likes him quite a lot, too, actually.” 

“ _And_ he's taking us home.” Pepper lifted her chin. “I don't think any of those superstitions are real,” she confidently announced and Crowley's heart swelled in quiet fondness for all of them. 

It only solved who papa was for the ducks, the duo rustling their wings as they exchanged looks. “Taking you home? Where are you lot headed?” 

“Back to London,” Adam told them, grinning devilishly. “We were poisoned and catnapped, separated along the river so we'd be powerless. But little did those catnappers know that papa is excellent at hide and seek. He knew exactly how to find us. Then with his quick thinking, he asked Crowley to show us the way home. And now he's our friend. Practically part of our gang, yeah?” The other kittens nodded in agreement.

“I suppose that's close enough to what really happened,” Aziraphale reflected, sharing a smile with the black cat.

“It says how clever their papa is, at any rate.” Crowley managed, between claws and practice, to tie his bandana back on and resume his grooming. 

“Oh, but that's exciting! We're heading to London too!” stilled him. 

“We could go together,” made him look up with narrow eyes. These ducks were on thin ice as it was. He wasn't about to travel with them. 

“We _could_! Why, Mary, what a brilliant idea. We're traveling by water and land, we are. Meeting my mother at St. James Park!” 

“She's a regular Mother Superior,” Mary teased with a bit of a wiggle, sending Theresa into a fit of giggles. 

“Mary, you wicked thing! She is, isn't she?” So Mary giggled too.

“Oh, well, that would be-” Aziraphale paused in his agreement as he took in the glower on Crowley’s face. “Well, we wouldn’t want to slow you ladies down. I’m afraid we can’t very well travel by water.”

“Oh, pish-posh. It'll make no difference to us if we're all goin' the same direction. We could do with a bit of walking.” 

“Come now. Walk too much and we'll get flat feet.” And they spilled into giggles again, feathers rustling. 

Mary seemed to calm down first, beaming. “And we'd be happy to help look after your lovely children if they've got a habit of taking a few tumbles. The riverbank can be quite steep in some places.” 

Oh, well, that changed things. Aziraphale felt - given the several close calls they’d experienced so far - that this was an offer they couldn’t exactly pass up. “In that case, we’d be delighted to accompany you.”

Crowley bit back a huff but didn't hide the way his eyes rolled. They'd be just fine without their _help_ if their brand of it was as useful as it had been for him. But extra sets of eyes on the kittens wasn't a bad idea, necessarily. He just didn't particularly care for these sets. They reminded him a bit of the chattering nuns, frankly, and that was going to irritate him fast. 

The kittens, though, seemed delighted at the idea of traveling with ducks. “If you do want to swim, can we ride 'round on your backs?” Brian wondered. 

“Oh, I think we'll leave that for your dear old dad to decide.” 

“I think we’ve had enough fun with water for one journey.” Aziraphale feared it would be harder to keep the four curious kittens from the river than he’d first thought. With Adam sufficiently cleaned, Aziraphale nudged him up so he could scamper about with his siblings. “We’ll all stay safely on dry land for the rest of the way.”

The kittens all sighed, disappointed to miss out on a novel opportunity such as riding on the back of a duck, but the look on their papa’s face booked no room for arguments. Though he could be soft to some of their wheedling and allow his opinion to be somewhat swayed, he could also be impossibly stubborn at times. They had to choose their battles wisely with him.

“Sounds like a fine plan to me,” Crowley muttered, shaking himself one more time. He couldn't get completely dry, but the sun would hit the places he couldn't quite reach well enough. “We should keep going.” 

“If we can’t ride on their backs, can we at least waddle like they do?” Adam asked.

“Only if Miss Mary and Miss Theresa don’t mind. We wouldn’t want to cause offense,” Aziraphale replied, watching the kittens line up behind the ducks.

“Can we? We want to walk like ducks.” Brian stumbled over his own paws in his excitement, toppling into Pepper, who gave him a shove in the opposite direction.

“Course you can, luvvies! Come on now, line up, all four o'ya. We'll have us a parade of sorts.” 

Crowley watched them scatter, sauntering up to Aziraphale. “Think I might go give drowning another shot,” he muttered. 

Aziraphale swatted him with his tail. “Come now, they’re hardly as bad as all that. They saved your life, after all.”

“I was _fine_.” Hardly. “Their inability to hear the word 'no' makes me wonder, y'know. Do ducks have ears?” 

“Well, of course they do, my dear. How else would they hear other ducks?” Aziraphale rubbed up against him, tail flicking just under his chin as he stepped ahead of him and took his place behind Wensleydale and Pepper.

Crowley shook his head, following behind Adam and Brian as they finally started off. He absolutely refused to waddle, but could admit to himself that there was something adorable about watching the kittens do their best interpretations. Sweet, silly little things. 

\----

St. James's Park was lovely even at night. Only a few softly lit gas lamps and the moonlight guided the path, but it was hardly a problem for a handful of cats. It was lucky for the ducks, really, who couldn't see nearly as well in the dark, that Aziraphale had agreed to travel with them. 

Crowley was almost over his annoyance with them, though it was something which constantly went back and forth. They talked entirely too much for his liking, but they managed to keep the kittens entertained and were, clearly, quite fond of children in general. They had also proven to be very adept at catching fish when hunger had set in, the cream from breakfast a distant memory for the kittens, so they'd at least been able to eat well. 

He was still exceptionally glad when the two ducks gasped in delight and flapped over to the water's edge. “ _There_ you are! Here we were, thinking we'd be looking all night!” 

“Oh, Theresa, I was wondering when you would arrive.” The older voice chilled considerably. “Mary. Theresa didn't tell me you'd be coming.” 

Mary didn't seem to notice. “Oh! Well. Probably an oversight. It's been a _day_ of travels just to get here. Theresa's been telling me about the breadcrumbs thrown 'round here and I'm very intrigued. Incredibly so, even.” 

“Yes, yes,” Theresa sighed. “Ooh, the Russian cultural attaché's black bread is _divine_ if it's anything.” 

“I'm far more partial to soggy Hovis with Marmite,” the mother duck mused, feathers rustling. 

“I'm looking forward to them both.” She looked back, really only able to make out six sets of glowing eyes. Aziraphale's pristine fur caught the dim light easily enough, but Crowley disappeared entirely with each blink. “Well, I suppose this is where we part! It was lovely traveling with you all. A fine day, it was.” 

“We feel very much the same. Thank you so much for your company, and again for assisting dear Crowley with the river.” Aziraphale bowed his head politely, then nudged two of the kittens with his tail. “Children, manners?”

“Thanks for showing us how to be proper ducks, Miss Theresa and Miss Mary,” Adam giggled. “It was loads of fun.”

“Yeah, and I had no idea water actually slid off a duck’s back. It’s genius, really. That way you don’t have to be cold once you’re out of the water,” Brian added, neither kitten giving quite the ‘thank you’ Aziraphale had been hoping for. Well, he honestly didn’t expect anything less.

Wensleydale faired a little better, though his yawn right in the middle was far from polite. “Yes, actually, it was,” the yawn, “very interesting. Thank you.”

Pepper tanked with a simple, “Right. What they said. Are we almost home, then? My feet hurt.” 

While they had certainly traveled to St. James’s Park with their Madame, it was normally by carriage and with them safely tucked in the middle of it. And to be quite honest, Aziraphale never had any reason to pay attention to street corners and suchlike whenever they did come out. That coupled with his own exhaustion from a day spent traveling left him very much without his bearings. He was as unfamiliar with this part of London as he was out in the countryside.

“Well, ah… I should think so. It’s probably not far now, my dears,” he attempted to reassure them, bending to nuzzle Pepper. “You’ve all done so well. I’m very proud of you.”

He had no idea, Crowley realised. He hesitated for a moment before giving in. Spending a little more time with the little family wasn’t a bad thing by any means and he was feeling the effects of a day traveling himself, especially after that stint in the river. “You can stay at my place, if you like. It’s not far.”

Wide blue eyes found his in the dim light, something like hope shining in them, even if he didn’t dare feel it. “Oh… I wouldn’t- _we_ wouldn’t want to impose on you like that.”

“You’re not, angel. It’s a small place, but it’s safe. We’ll be able to find your home easier in the light anyway.” He plucked Pepper up as he stood again and carefully set her on his back.

“Is this because I’m the girl?”

“No, it’s because you’re the one who said her feet hurt. Come on. ‘Nother half-hour through a couple of alleys and we’ll be there.”

When Wensleydale yawned again, Aziraphale picked him up by the scruff to carry him as well. Brian and Adam still pushed through, as wobbly as their little legs were getting, and stayed sandwiched between the adult cats as they weaved in and out of alleys. As much as they all wanted to get home, Aziraphale couldn’t help the glad little thought that circumstances were what they were. It wasn’t as if anyone could object to him taking up such a kind offer, and with the kittens to think of. It made more sense than wandering around in circles all night.

The junkyard they ended up in was quiet, the fence surrounding it high enough to discourage other strays. Crowley had been lucky enough to stumble across a loose board one day, so pushed against it and held it open while the rest followed him through. After carefully replacing it, he guided them across the yard and listened to Adam plot their next game around their surroundings. It was a valiant effort to keep himself and his siblings awake, and Crowley admired it as much as he did the unending well of imagination the boy had.

“Here we are,” he interrupted as they reached a vehicle. The Bentley before them was big, black, and could probably be called sleek if it hadn’t been tucked away in a junkyard. The owner was positive he could fix it, but it was far from the only automobile or device he felt that way about so Crowley wasn’t in any danger of losing his makeshift home anytime soon.

“You live in a car?” Adam asked with a sleepy grin. “That’s the best.”

“I want to live in a car,” Brian yawned. “Madame Tracy doesn’t have a car.”

“Well, you’ll get to stay the night in a car,” Aziraphale said once he set Wensleydale down and freed up his mouth, appraising the Bentley curiously. “It certainly makes for an interesting home. Dare I say it, but it suits you, I think.”

“Do you?”

“It certainly wasn’t what I expected your place to look like. And you… you aren’t exactly what I expected when we first met either.” It might have been because his own eyelids were actually heavy, at least that was what his excuse could be if he needed one, but he wasn’t able to help batting his lashes as he looked at him. “In a good way, obviously.”

His purrs erupted anew, but he didn’t bother to fight them. He just settled Pepper among her brothers and dipped beneath the car, brushing slinkily against Aziraphale as he passed by. “C’mon,” he encouraged and the kittens followed with sleepy curiosity, fascinated when Crowley pawed at a spot of the floor that didn’t actually end up being floor after all. A well-placed blanket hid the entrance under the driver’s pedals. “Into the backseat with you four. There’s a good pillow back there.” Big enough for four kittens, definitely. They’d just need a little help, so he plucked up Wensleydale first and hopped onto the seat and over. He had a few pillows, actually, and a few blankets. He liked sleep and he liked to be comfortable while he did it.

Aziraphale carried Brian over next, the kitten already accident-prone enough when he was fully alert, let alone when he was about ready to fall asleep where he stood. “But where will you sleep, Mr. Crowley?” the kitten asked as he was plopped down next to Wensleydale.

He licked him between the ears, light and fond. “I’ve got a spot in the front seat I like. Don’t you worry about me, little mess.”

Pepper was next, then Adam. Soon all four kittens were nestled on the pillow in their own blanket cocoon. They wiggled about to get comfy, Pepper kneading her spot to get it just so while Brian stretched out along his side. Adam tucked himself into a loaf, watching as Aziraphale made his rounds to bid each kitten good night and make sure they were all comfortable.

“This was the best adventure we’ve ever had,” he said when Aziraphale fixed his fluffy fur to rid it of any matting or tangles. “Even if it means Gabriel tried to poison us and then drown us in the river.”

Aziraphale tutted, encouraging him to close his eyes with a nuzzle. “That imagination of yours… go to sleep now, my dears. When you awaken, you’ll have had a lovely dream of whatever you like best.”

“I liked the cream,” Brian giggled sleepily. “And the ducks.”

“Then dream of the biggest, tastiest bowl of cream, darling.” Aziraphale’s smile was all fondness as their eyes closed one by one. “And as many ducks as can fit between your ears.”

Crowley loved them, he realised, feeling the achingly sweet swell of his heart as he watched them drift off. Well, damn. That hadn’t been part of his plans that morning, and yet... Deciding some distance would help, he jumped onto the headrest of the front seat. “Coming, angel?”

Aziraphale circled the kittens so he could make a similar leap to the passenger seat. “I’ve never seen them fall asleep so fast,” he chuckled softly. “Bedtime tends to be a battle at home, though I shouldn’t be surprised after the day they’ve had.” He turned the full light of his smile on the black cat. “And it’s thanks to you that they’re able to look on the day so fondly and sleep safely tonight.”

He gave a half-hearted attempt at blaming the immediate purrs on how tired he himself was, but knew better. Aziraphale was just so pristine and lovely, as sweet as the kittens with his eyes shining beautifully in the dim moonlight. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head as his own purrs began to rumble.

“How are you going to look on the day, angel?”

Aziraphale curled the fluff of his tail around him as he drank in the sleek lines of the black cat's body and the honeyed glow of golden eyes as if the sight of him itself was as sumptuous as a bowl of the richest cream. This cat who had dropped everything he'd had planned for his day, who risked his life for them, and welcomed them into his home… Aziraphale hadn't known such kindness from anyone other than his Madame Tracy, and even then it was so very different. His Madame had so much to give, and a heart big enough to give it freely, if also in a bit of an oddball way to odd people. Crowley had so little, but he offered what he had anyway, without asking for anything in return, with knowing how cruel the world could be. He chose not to be part of that cruelty, even when he had no reason to be otherwise.

“I can't recall a single day that compares to this,” he told him. “Nor do I think any future day will outshine the pleasure of meeting you.”

Crowley stepped closer to him, as unable to resist as he'd been that morning. Less so, really, now that he knew him. “I could say the same. The whole lot of you are... Well, I've never met anyone like any of you.” 

When Aziraphale’s tail flicked out, it twined itself around Crowley’s. “Neither have we. I must say, it seems we’re all quite… taken with you. Even if you aren’t what they thought an alley cat might be like,” he chuckled softly. 

“Bit rubbish at the parts they expected, honestly.” He pressed against Aziraphale's side, soaking in his soft warmth and letting himself nuzzle a little. He willed their scents to mingle so he could pretend, just for a little bit, that he could always have this. “Not without some extreme motivation, anyway.” 

“Well…” Aziraphale nuzzled him back, encouraging him to rest against him as a sharp pang of rightness flooded him in this quiet moment. “I like you just as you are. Rubbish or not.”

Crowley licked behind his ear, soft and fond in his grooming. “Never would've expected a posh thing like you to play in the trash,” he joked. 

Aziraphale’s tail uncurled just enough to playfully swat at him for referring to himself as such, though his purrs continued to rumble warmly. “Well, I suppose we all have some secrets. I wouldn’t have expected such a scoundrel to be quite so selfless as to help a posh thing and a couple of kittens either, but there you have it.”

“Well, yeah, of course. They're kittens. You can't kill kittens. You were all too close to the St. Beryl's cemetery and those mutts.” And he would've felt like he'd be doing just that had he left them. “And you... Well.” 

“Well?” Aziraphale rubbed the top of his head against Crowley’s chin, hiding his smile with a huffy tone. “What is that supposed to mean? ‘ _Well_.’”

Crowley purred and purred, letting himself enjoy the nearness, the warm softness of all that fluff, the affection he could hear under the attitude. And how nice to know that he could be an utter brat under all that politeness. “ _Well_ , you're an angel. I'd be the worst sort of demon if I let anything happen to you.” 

“Hm… seems to me more like you were an angel once yourself,” he hummed.

“That was a _long_ time ago. If it's even true to begin with.” Their tails twined again. “Maybe you're just... special enough to get that out of me.” 

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale laid his paw over one of Crowley’s. “How did you know to call me that? Madame Tracy has always called me her angel, and I thought it was simply her term of endearment for me. But you… you said it straight off, before we’d even really spoken. Why?”

He wanted to wiggle in embarrassment, but he wanted to keep Aziraphale close more. “I just- You looked like one. All pretty and white on that wall. And you... smelled divine, like someone I just had to take a chance with.” Someone who could be his. “And I was right, obviously. You’re every inch the angel, Aziraphale. What else could I have possibly called you, then or now?” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s heart fluttered, then he lifted his head to lick behind his ear. “Oh you darling, wily thing. You’re going to make it very difficult to say goodbye at the end of all this.” Though he was well-aware it was already too late for that. Far too late. 

A part of him hoped that maybe Crowley would come to visit them. Just because they were back home didn’t mean that they couldn’t see him ever again, right? But to ask Crowley to have to hang around the same neighborhood in London, the same posh neighborhoods and still be very much alone at the end of the day, well, he couldn’t actually expect him to want to stay. Not when he had the whole world. But maybe… if Crowley offered...

He did, in his own way, though it did highlight just how different their lives had been to this point. A contented housecat and a distrustful stray. “We don’t have to? We could... go off together. Kittens too.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he turned so he could see the sincerity in his golden gaze. “Go off together?” he echoed weakly, if only because such a thought hadn’t occurred to him. Could they? He couldn’t deny that it was a rather romantic idea, and Crowley had already proven that he cared for them. They could make a life together.

And yet… “I don’t think I could…” he confessed quietly, eyes bright with the hint of regret. “There’s Madame Tracy to think of, and the kittens… Oh, I couldn’t uproot their entire lives like that. Even if I think they’d all take to it, rambunctious things they are.”

Protests rose, tangling and lodging in his throat. There was nothing he could really say, had known even as the offer had spilled out what the answer would be. He really didn’t have much to offer and while Aziraphale saw the charm in it, Crowley only saw the nothingness. He tipped closer again, tucking him under his chin with a soft nuzzle. They’d had the day, they’d have the night, and they’d have the morning - it would be enough.

“I know, angel. They need you.”

But what about Crowley? Aziraphale thought to himself as he allowed the black cat to cuddle him and pressed close in return. Clearly he was more than capable of ensuring his own survival out here, didn’t need anyone looking after him as it were, but it still had to be a lonely existence. Did he need someone to fill that gap in his life? To care about him and give him a place to come back to? To come home to.

The urge to ask him to stay with them welled up inside him, threatening to spill out, but could he really do that? It was Madame Tracy’s house, not his. It wasn’t up to him who could stay in the house, though surely his kind human would take his opinion into account. Then again, she _had_ just taken in the four kittens. Oh, he couldn’t make such an offer without knowing it could be reality. Even so, even if Crowley wanted them to go off together, that didn’t mean he wanted to be tied down either.

They would just have to take what they could get for now. Get the most out of this arrangement while they had the chance. Aziraphale closed his eyes and listened to the gentle rumbling in Crowley’s chest. They were purrs of comfort more than happiness, a way to soothe them both as their first and only night together slowly crept on into dawn.

What escaped the notice of the cats in the front seat of the Bentley, was that the four sleepy kittens in the back had been listening in. It started with Adam, ever-curious and the lightest sleeper, and it spiralled from there. As Aziraphale and Crowley drifted off, their conversation coming to an end, the kittens exchanged glances and sighed. While they already had a wonderful papa, they couldn’t deny that it would be nice for him to have someone on his side and someone else for them to play with. Even if they couldn’t go off with him, they didn’t understand why Aziraphale didn’t ask if Crowley wanted to stay with them instead. Madame had plenty of room, after all, it seemed like an obvious solution. Yet neither of them said anything more.

Oh well. Maybe their papa would ask Mr. Crowley to stay in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> This chapter, specifically the final scene, took a very long time to come together  
> Sometimes, the brain just refuses to brain

The morning came too soon for Crowley, golden eyes blinking open as the sun began to rise. He only gave himself a few seconds to enjoy waking up next to someone, next to Aziraphale in particular. Soft warmth pressed so close, rippling right into and filling his heart. He had to leave. He wasn’t sure how he would’ve handled watching him awaken, watching awareness seep back into those lovely blue eyes. Would they be disappointed or pleased to see him? Either would hurt.

So he slipped out of the Bentley, padding silently to streak across the ground and hunt for breakfast. It alone proved to Crowley just how ridiculous he’d been to ask Aziraphale to join him in his life. He couldn’t nab a mouse, the easiest prey in a junkyard, because he and the kittens had mouse _friends_ back home. What sort of cat befriended mice?

The angelic kind and his adopted kittens, apparently.

They’d barely known how to eat the fish the night before, not until Crowley had cut it up neatly with some clever claw work. It made him wary of catching a bird too, unsure how they’d take to a feathery pigeon. He had to leave the junkyard and slink down alleys he normally avoided. Business owners tended not to take kindly to _any_ felines in their midst, whatever the colour of their coat, but needs must.

By the time he made it back, a small plate clenched in his teeth and a bottle of milk tied up in his bandana, Aziraphale was awake and waiting on the dashboard. He knew the moment the angel saw him, setting the stolen platter on the ground as Aziraphale disappeared into the Bentley and popped out from underneath. “Morning, Aziraphale.”

“Crowley,” he greeted, prancing over to him as his gaze was drawn to the plate and the milk, even as he struggled not to be too obvious about it. “Good morning. I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Thought you'd all need something before we got going.” It was very different to have someone watching for him, waiting for him. His heart played hopscotch in his chest, but he was going to stay practical. “Kittens up yet?” 

“They’re starting to stir. Breakfast is sure to get them going.” Aziraphale couldn’t resist acknowledging his spoils now. “Where on Earth did you find all that?”

“Stoop, unlocked pet door,” he explained, gesturing at the milk and small plate respectively. “It’s easy enough to sneak about in the shadows.”

“Like a spy?”

Both cats turned as Adam eagerly wiggled his way out of the bottom of the Bentley, the other three kittens hot on his heels. “I suppose one could liken sneaking in the shadows to the behavior of a spy,” Aziraphale mused. It was better than other things, like thievery, but he supposed this was no different than letting the children drink cream from a delivery truck.

“Some spying was involved.” He’d had to make sure he was alone and unseen, after all. Crowley fought with his bandana briefly, shaking himself out before sinking his teeth into the cork so he could fill the dish. “There.”

“No crowding, my dears. Be patient,” Aziraphale advised, watching as they all scampered around the dish and narrowly nabbing Brian before he tripped face first into the milk.

He wiggled a little, but went a little more carefully when he was set down between Adam and Pepper. They made up a little compass. Wensleydale was safely glad to be across from him instead of beside, licking his muzzle when he looked up. “Thanks, Mr. Crowley.”

“Right,” Pepper agreed, shuffling closer to Wensley when Brian somehow got milk on _her_ paw. “Thanks.”

When the other two followed suit, Crowley shifted uncomfortably on his paws and started to tug at and adjust his bandana so it would fit right again. “Right, well... Finish up so your papa can have his turn.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help puffing up a bit in pleasure, beaming at Crowley. He moved to rub up against his side with a soft purr. When Adam stopped drinking to blink at him curiously, and maybe even a little knowingly, Aziraphale settled beside him and gave him a pointed look. The kitten grinned and didn’t say anything.

“You’ll need your turn as well,” Aziraphale reminded Crowley. “We wouldn’t dare eat you out of house and home.”

He'd seen Adam's look too, but the little hellion didn't keep him from enjoying Aziraphale's nearness and a little teasing. “Wouldn't you? I've already lost my biscuits to a river.” 

“Oh, dear. That’s true.” Legitimate regret for the tasty little treats lost to them actually flickered across his face, ears falling. “Well, we’ll just have to make up for that. I’ll repay your good deed once we return home. I’m sure there will be a surplus of treats waiting for us.” Because surely Gabriel wouldn’t be policing them on their snacks after they’d been missing for an entire day… “So I’ll make certain you have as much food as you can carry. It’s the least I can do.”

Crowley shook his head. “It's fine, angel. I'll just hitch a ride back to the Tadfield area. It's easier to stay hidden without a whole family to look out for.” 

“Right… of course it is.” Of course Crowley had realised how preposterous the offer he’d made last night was. In the heat of the moment, alone under the moonlight… It was silly to think he’d meant it. His smile was a bit weak, until he realised the kittens were looking and he forced his ears back up as his attention shifted to them. “Finished, darlings?” 

Looks were exchanged between the four of them, most attention lingering on Adam. Pepper was the first to step away from the platter they'd nearly emptied. There was more milk in the bottle, so no one felt bad for it. “I am, papa.” 

“So’m I,” Brian added, then ducked his head for one more farewell sip just to be safe. 

Aziraphale continued to force his smile as the two kittens stepped back, taking care to nuzzle them both before bending low to drink his fill. The cold, fresh taste was enough of a distraction from the disappointment he told himself was utterly ridiculous to feel. He knew Crowley would tire of him- of looking after them, that is. It was a hassle, it tied him down, kept him from being as free as he’d surely like to be.

Mind whirring, Adam tried to come up with some sort of plan to keep Crowley from leaving after he dropped them off at their home. He felt like his papa had the right idea, trying to get him to wait while he fetched treats for him, but Crowley honestly didn’t seem interested. Not that he wasn’t interested in them, just the treats. 

“Do you want to see all the places we spy on Gabriel from? At our house. It’s all very sneaky,” Adam told him, sitting back to let Aziraphale finish. “We could give you a tour. Show you our place like you showed us yours.”

He already didn’t want to leave them. Any extra time was just going to make it harder. “Dunno how your human would take some old stray wandering about, even if it is sneaky.”

“Actually, I don’t think she’d mind,” Wensleydale chimed in. “Madame Tracy is very nice.”

“And she draws aside the veil on Thursday afternoons.” Adam nodded, pleased with the contribution. “Whatever that means. So she’s usually busy. She won’t even notice.”

“You could meet Anathema and Newt,” Pepper added with a firm nod. “And old Agnes Nutter!” 

“Kids...” His tail twitched in uncertainty. He knew he had to say no, but the urge to agree was so strong. The only thing that fully kept him from being impulsive was the embarrassment of not knowing what a Thursday was. Another obvious clue that he shouldn't have asked Aziraphale to stay with him. They had too many opportunities in a real house. “P'rhaps another time, yeah? She'll notice you all coming home. You've been gone a whole day and it's going to take some time to find the house. She'll be worried.” 

Adam looked like he was at a loss for a moment, coming up with reasons for Crowley to stick around was a lot harder than coming up with games to play. “Well, she’ll probably want to thank you. For making sure we got home.”

“Yeah!” Brian grinned, bouncing excitedly. “You’re like a hero. I bet she’d like you.”

“Exactly,” Adam agreed.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, silencing any further attempts at coercing Crowley. “That’s quite enough now, children. Mr. Crowley gave his answer, the polite thing for you to do now would be to accept it. You’ve made your offers, now you’ll respect his offer to come by another time. Yes?” He waited until he received a nod from each of them, even if there was a great deal of eye rolling from Pepper before she followed through. “Right. Good. Now, ah… I believe I’m quite finished, so if you’d like to finish off the bottle, Crowley.” He made an awkward sort of gesture at the remaining milk with his paw.

“Right.” He didn’t quite know how much he’d be able to eat considering all the knots in his stomach, but he still tipped over the bottle and emptied it into the platter. He’d need the energy. “You don’t happen to know the name of your street or anything to help us find your home?”

“It’s on Wingate Road. It's near Ravenscourt Park and the Thames, I'm just not certain where exactly that is in relation to where we are presently,” Aziraphale mused. “It's a charming street, full of pastel homes and lovely brick facades, with gardens all out the front.”

“I know it.” And, ironically, they'd passed it on their way to St. James's Park the night before. If Aziraphale had told him earlier (or if he'd thought to ask), he might've gotten them home then. “It's only about an hour off. We can cross through Kensington Gardens if you like.” 

“Oh, that would be lovely. The kittens have never been. Madame was waiting until they were a bit older for a carriage ride through the park.” Aziraphale did think of those little outings fondly, always content to enjoy what he could of the outdoors from the safety of his human’s lap.

“Well, if they can make it all the way from Tadfield in one piece, they can manage a stroll through a garden.” Alright, perhaps he was stretching out the time in his own way, but could he deny himself the chance? 

“Yes, I should think so,” Aziraphale agreed, watching him eat for a moment longer before bending his head down to take a few more generous laps beside him, unable to tell if he wanted the milk or the excuse to stay close to him for a few minutes more.

The kittens had a feeling it was the latter, despite knowing how their papa felt about food. They knew better than to call him out on it, especially when it seemed that would do more harm than good in the moment, though they didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. If Crowley and Aziraphale wanted to continue to see each other even after they got home, then why couldn’t they? It seemed like a very simple solution if the grown-up cats just said what they actually wanted. And how odd for their papa, who normally had no qualms about making his opinion known about every little thing, no matter how polite.

Even though the kittens didn’t say anything as they resumed their journey home, Adam’s mind was still whirring with possibilities. His siblings looked to him expectantly, waiting to see what kind of plot he’d unveil to encourage Crowley to come inside with them, even for a moment. If he saw how nice their house was and how nice Madame Tracy was and how comfy their papa could make himself on his favourite cushion in the library, well, then obviously Crowley wouldn’t want to leave. And obviously Madame Tracy would take him in, unlucky stray or not, because she’d taken all of them in. Four whole kittens without a thought and nursed them all to full health. She wouldn’t even have to do that for Crowley. He could take care of himself.

An idea sprung to mind as they wandered through the gardens. It didn’t escape Adam’s notice that Crowley looked almost at peace surrounded by the flora. Maybe it reminded him of the freedom of the countryside or maybe he just really liked flowers, but it was good enough for Adam, the kitten reasoned. He watched the black cat when Aziraphale ushered the other three kittens over to smell a fragrant patch of tulips, daffodils, and crocus, all while lecturing them on the language of flowers that he’d read about, in an attempt to instill some level of instruction.

While Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale listened to him attentively, Adam glanced over at Crowley and noted the yellow-eyed cat quite literally had eyes only for the fluffy white one haloed by a ring of golden daffodils. He looked at him like Aziraphale looked at fresh slabs of salmon atop little pillows of white rice. Nigiri, he’d sigh with longing in his voice. Yes, Crowley looked at their papa - and the rest of them, honestly - with longing.

Adam trotted over to him, his interest in the kittens quickly snapping his attention away from fluffy white and sunshine yellow to look down at him. “You know, there’s a garden at our place. S’got loads of flowers. Not as many as here, but still lots.”

“I'd wager it's beautiful.” Persistent little bugger. Crowley ducked down, licking him between the ears. It was such a sweet thing to be stubborn over and such a pleasant thing, feeling wanted. “I'll come back, little Hellion. I promise you I will.” Even if it hurt. “But it's not your place to ask me to stay, just as isn't mine to say I will, alright?” 

His ears flattened. “Why not? I think it should be.” 

“As you get older, you'll learn you can't always have what you want. You have to think of everyone involved and you _can't_ just make assumptions.” Crowley nuzzled him fondly, encouraging his ears to perk back up. “It isn’t easy, but don’t be upset. We’re in a park. You should be enjoying yourself.” 

Adam sighed, but didn’t put up a fuss as he wandered back over to the rest of the Them in time to hear Pepper scoff, “Flowers can’t have a _language_. They don’t even talk.”

“What about people who can’t talk?” Brian asked. “They still got a language, don’t they?”

“Actually, he’s right, Pepper,” Wensleydale chimed in. “There is a thing called sign language.”

“That’s different,” she huffed. “That’s not the same as flowers at all.”

“It’s more symbolism than an actual language, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed, very much regretting bringing up the meaning behind tulips to the kittens. Except not really, he did like to make knowledge available to them, so they could grow and form opinions and make choices. It didn’t mean it was an easy thing, though. “Each flower has a meaning.”

“So, it’s more like a dictionary,” Adam finally contributed. “With special meanings and all. Definitions.”

Aziraphale lit up at the comparison. “It’s a bit like a dictionary, yes, my dear boy. Does that help put it into context, Pepper?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, then…” She was in one of her more difficult moods, it seemed. They all seemed a bit off-kilter actually, if he was being honest, which was why he’d hoped to distract them with a bit of a lesson. Perhaps that was the wrong way to go about it.

“Could you send secret messages with flowers?” Adam asked.

“Well, yes. I suppose that was the whole point. It was a way to communicate one’s intent or their feelings through the use of various flora.”

“Why didn’t they just send actual messages? With words?” Pepper challenged.

“Sometimes people were in positions where they couldn’t do so with words.”

“Like spies. Bet they came up with their own secret code and everything.” Adam grinned at the other three kittens. “We should come up with our own code.”

“Yeah, and we can teach Anathema and Newt!” Brian agreed eagerly. “And send threatening messages to Gabriel with flowers!”

“Yes- no!” Aziraphale gasped as the kittens dissolved into giggles. “No, we are _not_ threatening anybody. Aristocats don’t threaten people. And you cannot just make up your own meaning for flowers, they already have meanings.”

“Somebody had to make up their own meanings first actually,” Wensleydale told him. “I don’t see why we can’t.”

Crowley rubbed against Aziraphale’s side as he settled behind him, possibly as a small apology for the absolute mirth in his gaze. They were four kittens on an adventure; who on earth would want to learn properly? “Words can have dual meanings, angel. Don’t see why flowers can’t, though I’m not so sure how any of them could be threatening.” Crowley turned his smile on the kittens, tail winding around Aziraphale's. “Your Madame might appreciate a flower code more than Gabriel if it involves gifts.”

“It wouldn’t be a gift though. It’d be a warning,” Adam replied, matter-of-factly while the other kittens snickered. “But you’re right. Madame Tracy would probably like a nice flower message. Something to make her feel better in case she was worried.”

“I bet she’d like these ones.” With a wiggle and a pounce, Brian hopped over to the tulips and tried to yank one out by his teeth. It didn’t budge and he flopped over onto his side.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Pepper accused, playfully pouncing on him. “We have _claws_. They’re like knives. Like Gabriel says.”

“Gabriel might be exaggerating just a bit.” Shaking his head, Aziraphale stepped over to them and extended his claws carefully. 

He normally kept them in, finding little reason to bring them out outside of filing them down on a scratching log, as Aristocats did not claw people or furniture. But they were still sharp, Pepper was right about that, and they cut a clean line through the stem of the flower. He picked it up and placed it on top of her head, smiling as Brian giggled and batted at the stem as it flopped down and bapped him on the nose.

Pepper got a laugh out of that, wiggling away from Brian and looking back at Aziraphale. “Do another one?” 

Aziraphale smiled and cut another for her. “Now we don’t want to take too many. We want the flowers to flourish, after all.”

She nodded, the stem caught between her teeth as she proudly brandished it for her brothers. 

Chuckling, wanting to encourage his lesson as much as he did the kittens' play, Crowley carefully tucked a tulip in Aziraphale's collar. “What do your books say these mean then, angel? Knowing the old code can be useful in making a new one. Don't want to overlap.” 

Aziraphale purred as he admired the blossom, his tail touching Crowley’s yet again. “Well, pink tulips, like the one Pepper has, traditionally stand for care and attachment. Yellow ones, like Brian’s, were thought of to symbolize a hopeless love at one point…” He met Crowley’s gaze for a moment, then flicked away. “But, ah, the meaning has evolved over time to encompass sunnier feelings and friendship. And red…” The one tucked in his collar, the same shade as the bandana around Crowley’s neck. “Well, red- ah… well, I suppose it’s- It stands for love. A deep, devoted sort of love. But it’s also, just a- a lovely colour. Very vibrant. Catches the eye.”

Purrs rumbled immediately, despite Crowley’s quick attempts to clear his throat and keep them at bay. His gaze flitted everywhere except the cat by his side. “Right. Yeah. Alright. That’s- Vibrant colour, yeah.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale echoed his agreement softly, his gaze drifting back to him, lingering when the cat continued to look elsewhere.

The kittens exchanged glances, Pepper rolling her eyes as Brian and Wensleydale giggled to one another. Adam felt another swell of hope surge in him before they were shepherded away down the path, their journey home resuming once more. They were meant to be together, he believed it, so it must be true. Whether it would be today or tomorrow or next week, somehow it would work out.

\----

As the pretty pastel homes popped up on their postcard perfect tree-lined street facing the river, the kittens bounded ahead, racing each other to the front door. Aziraphale didn’t run with them, watching them instead while he strolled with Crowley. What seemed like such a long journey had finally come to an end, sanctuary just in sight. 

Yet it was with a heavy heart that Aziraphale trudged along with, his ears falling flat as the English manor and its colourful garden greeted him. He thought he’d be happier to see it. Part of him was, of course. He knew his Madame would have a choice spot on her lap for him, and would sneak him delectable treats while Gabriel wasn’t looking. She’d scratch behind his ear just right and give him a thorough grooming. “All this fluff,” she’d tease as she combed out the knots. “Why, Mr. Aziraphale, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more cloud than cat! Straight from the heavens, you are, my angel!”

But having all that back meant giving up something that felt just as important. Aziraphale stopped as he reached their front gate, the bright white home decorated with lush greenery overlooking the Thames. The kittens had already slipped through the wrought iron slats, pawing eagerly at the front door as they mewed in a chorus. 

“Well, I suppose I better contain them before they upset Gabriel for scratching the door,” Aziraphale said as he cleared his throat. 

It just wouldn’t work. They were on opposite sides. He had his owner and his human comforts, and Crowley had freedom and adventure. Neither could ask the other to give that up.

“It’s been…” he struggled to find the right words, and settled on what social decorum demanded of him. “It truly has been a pleasure, Crowley.” Despite what he might have thought when they first met, it wound up being very much a pleasure. That and more.

“Yeah. I'll see you around, angel.” Though he wasn't so sure, a finality settling in and squeezing around his heart. He had to go and he didn't think coming back would be wise. Promises to the kittens aside, it would be better to make it a clean break. “You'll say bye to them for me?” 

“Of course. You’ve become rather dear to them.” _Dear to me_ , he wanted to say, but it would not help things. Still, he leaned in, butting his head against Crowley’s chin. “Goodbye, Crowley,” he told him before turning away, fluffy tail brushing against his side their final point of contact. The new purrs in Crowley’s throat died. 

Aziraphale eased his way between the gaps in the gate. As he started up the steps, he glanced over his shoulder, heart quivering as he met the yellowed gaze of the cat who’d quite literally saved them all. As such, he didn’t notice the two mice in the front window, frantically trying to get their attention while the kittens giggled, thinking they were just so excited to see them.

In actuality, Gabriel was about to answer the door, face stoney and cold as the meowing grated against his ear drums. How? How could such pampered, spoiled, _soft_ cats possibly find their way back to London? Back to their street? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Well, the rope and sack he had in hand would make quick work of this snafu. And if drowning them hadn’t worked... then perhaps he’d have more success with the deep set fireplace in the kitchen.

“Hello, sunshine.” Gabriel opened the door to let them in with a tight smile, a farce of good-nature and hardly welcoming. “Traitors.”

Aziraphale blinked while he closed the door behind them, ears perking up as he frowned at the butler. How dare he call them-

Sudden darkness enveloped him and all four kittens as they were scooped up in a sack. They tumbled into one another when the ground gave way, hoisted up as the opening was tied off. Pepper’s foot jabbed him in the belly and Brian yelped when Adam landed on his head and poor Wensleydale was nearly squished between them all as they moved, their cries muffled by the cloth.

The sack swung from Gabriel’s grasp as he carted them through the hall and to the kitchen, the two mice unseen as they scurried after him. He dumped the sack unceremoniously on the floor, cat and kittens landing hard in a pile. Immediately, Aziraphale extended his perfectly manicured claws and tried to snag at the fabric prison.

“What’s happening?” Brian wailed, wriggling helplessly against Aziraphale’s side.

“Told you it was Gabriel!” Adam snipped, tail flicking wildly.

“Children, please!” Aziraphale snapped back, patience frayed as panic set in. He hadn’t expected this kind of betrayal. Not from Gabriel. He may not have always had the best methods, but he’d looked after him for years. He took orders from Madame and she’d never in a million years permit this sort of senseless cruelty. Scaring kittens like this.

His claws weren’t sharp enough to cut through the cloth. Curse his weekly manicure sessions with Madame Tracy. Oh, if Crowley were here, he’d be able to cut through this like butter. Oh… oh, Crowley… 

Aziraphale’s ears fell flat as he heard the unmistakable sound of the cast iron pot being moved from the hearth. What was Gabriel plotting? The kittens huddled around him, little Wensleydale tucked between his front legs and trembling like a leaf on a blustery day.

Tiny footsteps caught their attention, and the tinier scritching of teeth on the cloth. “That’s it, Newt,” Anathema’s voice could be heard outside of the sack. “Adam? Kittens? Hang on, we’re getting you all out!”

Though their efforts were valiant, Aziraphale had his doubts about how quickly two little mice could make a hole in the sack before Gabriel noticed. The canvas material was simply too thick. They couldn’t do it alone.

“Anathema, Newton, stop!” Aziraphale shouted, startling the mice and the kittens. “You must go outside. There’s a cat that helped us home. His name’s Crowley. Please fetch him at once!”

“Yeah, Mr. Crowley will save the day. He always does,” Adam agreed.

“A cat?” Newt questioned nervously.

“What does he look like?” Anathema asked. 

“He’s all black, sleek fur, with a red bandana and the most piercing yellow eyes...”

Adam glanced at his siblings with a furrowed brow and mouthed ‘piercing?’ at them, to which they shrugged. “He’s an alley cat. Tell him his angel needs him.”

“Oh, now Adam-”

“He’ll come if he knows you need him, papa.”

“Actually, Adam's right,” Wensleydale agreed, not quite loud enough to be heard outside the bag but audible to the felines trapped inside. 

“We don't have time to argue and all! Go!” Pepper yelled. “Mr. Crowley'll help!” 

Newt squeaked in alarm and fell over, Anathema hoisting him back up to drag him after her. They slipped out the kitty door to the back garden, scurrying around to the front of the manor. If there had been a black cat in front of the gate, he was long gone.

“Now what do we do?” Newt fretted.

If Agnes were out there with them, she'd know what to do. She was also bigger and less likely to be crushed or eaten. Faster, too, and Newt said as much.

“We can’t let Agnes decide our every move for us forever,” Anathema replied decisively. “Come on. If I were a black cat in a neighborhood like this, I’d find the closest alley and stick to the shadows.”

“Isn’t that what any mouse-eating cat would do?” he wondered, nerves quivering his voice as he followed her.

“That might just be a risk we have to take.” But she, too, looked unsure for a moment. “We’ve got to at least try. We can’t leave Adam and them to the hands of Gabriel. He’s going to burn them at the stake if we don’t do something.”

His whiskers twitched with his grimace. “R-right.”

Though both mice paused when they rounded the corner. There weren’t many shadows on this sunny morning and the black cat stood out amongst the pastel colours. He hadn’t made it far, though was doing his best to convince himself that the sinking feeling in his stomach was having to leave and not because something was wrong. He should leave. He should return to the junkyard or leave town and just...

He caught sight of the two mice, ears going flat on a snarl designed to scare them off. It scared one behind the other. “I think that’s him,” Newt managed.

“You!” Anathema pointed at him, swallowing down her instinct to scurry away as she lifted her chin and stood firmly in front of Newt. “Are you Crowley?”

Panic skittered along his back, fur standing on end as he looked towards the home. These could be the mice who lived with them. Who else would bother him? “Depends on who you are.”

“We know Aziraphale and the kittens.”

“Adam- er… Adam said to say that... your angel needs you?” Newt squeaked out.

“And you didn't _start_ with that?” Bloody mice. He scrambled closer and scooped them up so they could cling to his bandana as he ran back to the pristine little manor as if his tail was on fire. “How do I get in?” 

“The back garden. There’s a kitty door that leads to the kitchen. Gabriel didn’t lock it because he didn’t think they’d make it over the wall,” Anathema told him, gripping his bandana with one hand and the other fisted in Newt’s fur to keep him from slipping off. “He thinks Aziraphale’s too lazy to make the jump and the kittens too small. Here. Jump up here.” She indicated a segment of an old stone wall where the branches of an apple tree stretched overhead.

“So it _was_ the damn butler.” Oh, Adam was going to be an even bigger handful now. Crowley leapt onto the wall and took a moment to get his bearings. Their yard butted right against the river, and they did indeed have the little garden Adam had tried to entice him with. And there was the cat door. He quickly leapt down. “What's he done to them?” 

“Threw them in a sack!” Newt yelped, the drop down quite terrifying for mice as small as them.

“I know he wants to get rid of them for good,” Anathema added, brow creased as her ears drooped. “He was lighting the fireplace when we left…”

Newt felt himself slipping and scrambled to hold onto Anathema. “He wouldn’t be _that_ cruel though, would he?”

“Well, he did poison and try to drown them,” she pointed out. “I’d say he’s capable of anything.”

Crowley growled, low and vicious. “He won't have an easy time with it.” He gave the cat door a testing swat before pushing it forward, looking around as he'd done just that morning on his hunt for milk.

A human he assumed was Gabriel had his back turned to the rippling sack on the floor, stoking the fire. It was set deep into the wall, plenty of room for the cauldron on its hook. Crowley slinked in, but as he waited for the mice to climb back down, he heard a woman's voice. “Gabriel, dear, did you hear meowing?” 

He quickly scooped up the sack and dumped it into the cauldron, muffling the little family inside. Brisk strides carried him out to meet Madame Tracy, deceptive smile in place, and Crowley darted to the large pot. He jumped up. There wasn't a quiet way to get the lid off, but if they were quick... 

He kicked and swatted and otherwise bullied the lid right off and jumped inside, claws finding the tie, and forced amusement over the fear that wanted to live on his tongue while he yanked and scratched at the binding. “Can't leave you lot alone for five seconds, can I?” 

“Crowley!”

The tie pulled loose and Aziraphale shook his head free of the sack. It fell open, giving the kittens room to squirm their way out into the pot. The fluffy white cat radiated relief as his gaze met those lovely, piercing yellow eyes, purring happily at the mere sight of him.

“You really did come back.”

“I couldn’t let all that work getting you back here go to waste, could I?” He counted the kittens just to make sure all four were there. At various stages of quivering and indignant, but there. “Come on now. He’ll be back any minute.”

“You heard him, my dears. Come along now.” Aziraphale plucked up little Wensleydale to help him out first, but the lid was suddenly slammed over the opening so hard, it nearly caught his whiskers. A muffled sound of shock and disdain rumbled out of him as all six of them were now trapped, echoing in the cast iron, and he was promptly shushed by the butler. How dare he continue this sort of behaviour! Madame Tracy was looking for them, he’d heard her. Aziraphale set little Wensleydale down and tried meowing for her again.

“Would you just shut your stupid mouth and die already?” Gabriel hissed. “I’ve worked too hard for it to all go up in flames now, cat- _ow_ \- what the Heaven was that?”

A sharp pain dug in at his ankles, so he looked down the length of his nicely pleated slacks and finely polished shoes to see a long, thin tail poking out the cuff of his trouser leg. He nearly choked on his own gasp, releasing the pot’s lid to swat at his leg and Anathema tumbled out. Newt was busy chewing away at the laces of his other shoe, undoing them so Gabriel stumbled in his haste to get away from them both, scrambling for the broom.

The lid shifted enough for Crowley to stretch up and wiggle his paws between it and the edge. It just wouldn’t quite move as easily as he wanted. “Bollocks. Help me push, angel.”

Aziraphale joined him, pushing at it with his paws as well until a larger gap formed, then he flattened his ears and nudged with the top of his head. “Kittens, try and climb out. One at a time. No scuffles now.”

The four of them froze for a moment, none of them quite certain who should go first. Adam spoke first. “Go on, Pepper.”

“Right. And then Brian.” All of them nodded and then Pepper turned to try her paw at getting out. It took two jumps and a nudge from one of Crowley’s paws to get her through the gap.

“Get out of the kitchen now,” Crowley urged, giving Brian the same nudge. “Quiet as you can. Find that Madame of yours. We’ll be there soon.”

“Actually, is there enough room for you and papa?”

“Oh, don't you worry about us, my dear boy. Scoot now, up you go.” Aziraphale caught him by the scruff when he didn't quite make the first few jumps, just managing to hoist him up over the edge before his paws slipped on the lid. “Alright, Adam. Tally-ho!” 

“I can distract Gabriel, give you two more time to get out,” he suggested as he clambered up last. 

“You'll do nothing of the sort. Find Madame, like Crowley said. She'll keep us all safe and we'll be right behind you.” 

Crowley nodded and Adam disappeared over the edge to join his siblings. Crowley’s whiskers twitched as he gauged the opening they’d created. “I think I can get out, knock the lid off like I did from above. Just dunno if they should get a headstart or not. Or if Adam’ll listen.”

“Oh… He probably won't, but it couldn't hurt. He might listen if it's you.” Aziraphale brushed his tail against him encouragingly. “Go on, darling. I'll hold it open for you. The last thing I'd want would be for you to be hurt because of us.”

“I wouldn’t have come back if I cared about that, angel. Now I’ll get this lid off for you.” Crowley briefly pressed against him before squeezing out of the narrow opening. Gabriel was still trying to find the offending mice, not seeing the four kittens trying to creep up on him. “Oh, for-” He hissed sharply, catching their attention while he pushed at the lid to get the opening wide enough for Aziraphale. “Oi! What did we say? Go-”

“What in the _Hell_ -”

Crowley jumped immediately, landing in front of the kittens with his back arched and fur on end. A low mrowling sound spilled out, fangs bared as the butler forgot the mice and focused on the felines. 

“You weren’t supposed to _multiply_ ,” Gabriel snapped.

Aziraphale hissed, the sound not normally something the angel would let slip from him, but with his family in danger, he considered it more than appropriate given the circumstances. Fur fluffed up, he leapt from the pot to join Crowley in standing before the kittens. He met Gabriel’s glare head-on, daring him to try anything, disappointed when the butler did. Gabriel reached out to snatch Crowley, but Aziraphale swatted at his hand, claws extended, and left bright red welts against the skin. The kittens all gasped, Pepper’s tail twitching in thrilled terror.

“You little-” Gabriel gritted his teeth against the sharp pain, then used his foot to separate the two adult cats, parting them like the Red Sea by forcing Aziraphale across the tiled floor. He toppled over with an unhappy sound, his tail pinned by Gabriel’s shoe. “Bit of a fallen angel now, aren’t you? Now stay there, while I-” He nabbed Adam by the scruff as the kitten hopped forward to help Crowley defend the others, hoisting him up to be eye level. “Take care of you first, apparently.”

Adam swung his front paws, trying to either scratch or escape, and Crowley simply leapt up on a furious yowl and latched onto his arm. All four sets of claws sank through shirt and into skin. 

Gabriel cursed the demon and his razor sharp claws and stumbled back. He released his grip on Adam, the kitten just narrowly caught by Aziraphale, freed by the butler’s frantic fumbling. Their relief was short-lived as Aziraphale darted out of the way, wary of being stepped on yet again, and they watched in horror as Gabriel tried to pry Crowley off his arm. His claws dug in deep though, refusing to be moved. Only Crowley’s bandana came loose in his attempts and it was tossed over his shoulder in frustration, right into the fire.

The shock of that loosened Crowley enough that Gabriel was able to grab him by the scruff as he had Adam, though it gave Crowley enough of a view to be able to see the fabric burn away. The only thing he’d ever actually owned, something that made most humans hesitate at least for a moment. Maybe he wasn’t a stray, maybe he wasn’t all black. It had kept him safe, and he wanted it back.

Aziraphale’s heart was pounding as he watched Crowley go limp in Gabriel’s grasp. He set Adam down and leapt up onto the kitchen counter. His attempt to attract his attention fell short, devastated yellow eyes fixated on the flames. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called out, “Crowley, do _something_!” If he didn’t, then Gabriel might throw him into the fire next.

Crowley barely spared him a glance. “I am having a _moment_ here!”

Aziraphale huffed, sympathetic to his plight of course - he'd be devastated if anything happened to his bowtie - but the children were watching and Crowley was in very real danger, his tail on the verge of being singed. With a wiggle to prepare himself, Aziraphale leapt onto Gabriel's shoulder and smacked him in the face with his tail. Horrified by all the fur getting on his suit, Gabriel made a disgusted noise and dropped Crowley - thankfully not into the fireplace - to shove Aziraphale off before he had any ideas about sinking his pretty, little manicured claws in next. 

“You,” Gabriel's smile was tight and manic as he squeezed Aziraphale to keep him from squirming away. “You have been the bane of my existence for far too long, cat. _Indulging_ in your _hedonistic_ lifestyle. Enough is enough. It's judgment day, so… Into the flames.” 

Aziraphale's ears flattened, held too far out to get any purchase to escape. _You were supposed to be a good guy, for Heaven's sake_ , he thought to himself as he stared at the man he'd lived with for years in this new light. He'd never thought him capable of such senseless cruelty, no matter how irritable. 

And this was certainly not how he'd thought he'd meet his end…

Luckily for him, it wasn't. There was a loud bang and glass shattered as a brick sailed right through the kitchen window. Both Gabriel and Aziraphale jumped, causing the cat to fall… on the hearth right in front of the fire, right next to Crowley.

“What the devil was that?” Aziraphale gasped, ears twitching as the answer was suddenly made very clear by a familiar, garbled accent.

“Ach! What demons are at work in this good woman’s home?”

Sergeant Shadwell burst into the kitchen brandishing what appeared to be a musket, though a very oddly shaped one at that. He pointed it right at Gabriel with a righteous snarl, expecting an intruder rather than the butler himself. Even after recognizing him though, he continued to aim the gun right at Gabriel’s face. Clutching the collar of her overcoat, Madame Tracy blustered in right behind him, sans wig and painted face for once, lines of worry drawn about her eyes. She gasped as she took in the damage to the window, then the damage to her butler, and then…

“Oh, my stars!” she cried out, dropping to her knees to scoop up little Brian and nuzzle him against her cheek. “Here you are, my little ones! I knew I heard you! Gabriel, why didn’t you say they’d come home? Mr. S and I were just about to go out and look for them, after all. And what was all that commotion? Sounded like a zoo was on the loose in here.”

“Close enough to one,” Crowley muttered, unsure where his own wary gaze should land. Guns, particularly window-shattering ones in the hands of wild men, were one thing, but the butler an equal threat. At least to him. He didn't think Gabriel would be quite crazy enough to attack the rest in front of the madame, particularly not with the kittens crowding her. Crowley bumped Aziraphale's side. Four safe, one to go. “Go on, angel. Further you are from these flames, happier I'll be.”

Aziraphale looked at him, eyes soft as he studied the mussed up fur around his neck. “You should hide as well, my dear. While Gabriel might not hurt us in our madame’s presence, I don’t know that I can say the same for you.” Though he truly didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t before and he definitely didn’t now. He’d risked his life for them on so many occasions. “But please don’t go yet,” he requested softly.

“I won’t, Aziraphale. Not so long as my angel needs me,” he said, tone light and teasing, but he meant it.

Though he was the one buried under white fluff a moment later when Gabriel tried to grab him. The sound of a hiss shouldn’t have made him purr, especially under tense circumstances, but he still hadn’t mastered the way to switch that off. And how could he possibly resist when someone was protecting _him_? The polite, fluffy aristocat shouldn’t have had any fight in him, but there it was.

Gabriel glared down at them, grasping at straws now. “I just- I was simply trying to get this... mangy stray out.”

Oh, Aziraphale dearly hoped his Madame wouldn’t believe such slander, even sans bandana, Crowley was anything but mangy. “How very dare you,” he grumbled, pressing down upon Crowley further when Gabriel tried a pathetic attempt to shoo him away and hissed once again.

His ears perked up as Madame Tracy hummed to herself, surveying the scene as she stood, an armful of all four kittens snuggled against her chest. Her lips were pursed in a dubious sort of expression, peering at her trusted cat companion through her lashes. Aziraphale might have been annoyed at Gabriel in the past, or sent her unimpressed looks whenever the butler tried to change things up on him, but he never, _ever_ hissed.

There was something smouldering in the fireplace, which was lit in the middle of the day with the cast iron stove pushed out of the way and a sack draped over the lip of it. The kittens mewled and pawed at her, clearly distressed by more than just a brick sailing through the window. They might have been cats, and maybe what they thought shouldn’t have mattered so much, but Madame Tracy had never subscribed to the norm before. She wasn’t about to start now.

“You know, Gabriel. I’m not so sure this is working out,” she said after a beat. “I think it might be time you found employment elsewhere.”

Gabriel stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Thank you very much for your service all these years, but I believe it’s no longer necessary.” She stroked under little Pepper’s chin. “I have to do what’s right by my cats.”

Aziraphale perked up, still poised protectively over Crowley, but his fur began to settle where it had fluffed up. He knew he could count on his Madame. Of course she wouldn’t abide by this behavior. He made eye contact with Gabriel as the butler spluttered, the cat lifting his chin, as satisfied as a cat could be. 

“But they’re- they’re just _cats_.”

Tracy’s gaze iced over, unimpressed and out of patience. “That’s where you’re very wrong, Gabriel. They’re not _just_ cats. They’re _my_ cats. Including this little fellow here, if he’ll have us.” She crouched down, though her knees weren’t what they were, and lowered the kittens to the floor. Her sharp nails raked through Aziraphale’s fur to soothe him, encouraging him to move off of Crowley and let her have a look at him. “Hello there, you handsome devil, you. Aziraphale is quite hard to win over, so there must be something special about you.”

She offered him her hand to sniff, and he hedged back a smidge with his whiskers twitching in uncertainty. Maybe she just hadn't realised he was a black cat yet? Bolstered by Aziraphale’s continued nearness, he pushed himself up and very gingerly bumped his nose against her hand. He tensed when she scratched him behind the ear, waiting for her to realise he didn't belong there, but she only moved to scratching him beneath the chin and that didn't feel terrible. “I didn't think you were that hard to win over,” he joked as he stepped away from her again, attention limit reached. 

Aziraphale tutted, rolling his eyes even as he started purring. “Foul fiend,” he accused, bunting his head against him. “I’ll have you know she’s right. There is something special about you.”

Crowley’s grumble came out very close to a purr as he leaned closer. “Shut it.”

“Does that mean you're staying?” Adam demanded, the kittens feeling much better with their Madame nearby. 

“Yeah, you have to! Madame said you could,” Brian chimed in, tripping over his own paws as he bounded up to the two grown cats. 

“Actually, he doesn’t _have_ to do anything-”

“Oh, shut it, Wensleydale,” Pepper huffed. “We don’t want him to go.”

His annoyance at being interrupted was short lived as he thought about it and nodded. “That’s actually true.”

The easy, very true excuse of not being welcomed places had evaporated. It left him with his own feelings, which were far stickier. Particularly since he had no idea… Well, he may have had some small suspicion of how Aziraphale felt, but- “Is it?” he wondered, looking at the fluffy white cat. 

Eyes that sparkled like sapphires looked upon him with utter fondness, Aziraphale giving in to what he really wanted. “Yes, I believe it is.”

“Oh.” Crowley tried very hard to cling to at least a little dignity, but couldn't stop the eruption into purrs. “I- Yeah. I'll hang 'round.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale echoed, practically glowing at the mere idea of it. “Oh, only if it… if it wouldn't trouble you, of course. Would it?” 

“Being with you isn't any kind of trouble, angel. Crazy butlers aside.” He looked over the four eagerly watching kittens, their excitement palpable. “And you lot included.”

That lot was easily distracted by their Madame as she addressed said crazy butler once again. “I’ll give you some time to pack your things,” Tracy told him, turning to leave the kitchen.

Gabriel’s chest puffed up as he blustered, violet eyes blazing and he took a threatening step towards her. “This wasn’t supposed to be the plan! I’m your fucking butler,” he spat, but Madame Tracy hardly looked offended. In fact, she merely raised an eyebrow as her gaze dared him to continue. “And they’re _cats_! After everything I’ve done for you and your mangy crew-!”

“How very dare you,” Madame Tracy and Aziraphale gasped in unison, the cat’s fur fluffing indignantly. “ _Mangy_ ,” he sulked, ears flat until Crowley licked one, more amused than sympathetic.

“Mr. S, I think Gabriel might need some assistance in finding the door,” Tracy mused.

“Aye.” Grin wide, he hefted his gun again and aimed. Whether or not it was actually loaded with a second brick was anyone's guess, but Gabriel didn't seem willing to take chances. 

“This… this isn’t over.” Gabriel pointed at them both, backing away slowly only to jolt when Shadwell’s finger rested on the trigger. 

As the butler fled out the kitchen door, the kittens scurried after him to watch as he ambled across the back garden. “Does this mean we don’t have to deal with old pickle puss Gabriel anymore?” Adam asked.

“You know,” Aziraphale hummed, trotting up behind them to keep an eye on them. “I don’t believe we do.”

“Aw. But who’s gonna give me baths all the time now?” Brian asked and Pepper nudged him. “What? S’a fair question.”

“Madame might, actually. Or maybe we'll get a new butler! A nicer one,” Wensleydale suggested with a hopeful twitch of whiskers. 

Crowley settled beside Aziraphale, tail winding around his as they watched Gabriel lose his footing right along the river's edge. The splash he made was exceptionally satisfying. “I'd wager that's not setting the bar very high.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tutted even as his tail twined with his right back. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you should say it.”

Adam grinned back at him. “What about honesty being the best policy? _You_ said Shakespeare said that.” 

Aziraphale untangled his tail just so it could smack the kitten with its fluff. “Remind me to teach you the value of _tact_ next lesson.”

“Mr. Aziraphale, kittens. Come here, my loves. Let’s get you all cleaned up and find you something to eat,” Madame Tracy called out to them. “Oh, and let’s not forget our newest addition.”

Crowley’s ears twitched, and he watched the kittens bound off and tumble over one another in the comfort of their own home. “Does she really mean to include me in all this, angel? D’you think?”

Aziraphale rubbed against him affectionately. “Well, this is the same woman who adopted four newborn kittens without a second thought. I believe you might be a smidge easier to manage than that.”

“Oi, I can get into plenty of mischief.” Though the sweet touch made his purrs erupt. “Could be a complete demon if I wanted to.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Aziraphale sighed, but he was pleased by the easy way Crowley’s contentment showed. Oh, he’d been a fool to assume Crowley wouldn’t want anything to do with them past the day, that just because he was an alley cat didn’t mean he couldn’t crave or long for a place to belong. “Come along, my dear. After all that excitement, I must say, I’m quite peckish.”

“Should’ve had more at breakfast,” he teased, still amazed and a little uncertain yet over his welcome there. Yes, the kittens undoubtedly wanted him to stay, but he was going to be a disruption to Aziraphale’s routine and their Madame may not have fully realised yet that he was a black cat. She could still change her mind. Soft white fur brushed against him and he twitched his whiskers, meeting those questioning, pretty blue eyes. “You really want some stray around, angel?”

“Only if that stray is you,” he quipped, chest puffed out. He felt quite clever coming up with that.

Crowley pushed himself against all that puff and fluff, the top of his head bunting beneath Aziraphale’s chin. “Obviously. Dunno where you’d find another one.”

“I imagine the same way I found you. Loitering on some wall.”

“ _I_ found _you_. It’s completely different.”

“I suppose we’ll simply have to agree to disagree,” Aziraphale replied, in a way that made him just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

Crowley’s delighted purrs came from somewhere deep down, wherein laid a good cat, and he fondly licked the back of Aziraphale’s ear. “Nah, I'll just save my argument for later. You said you were peckish.”

“Oh, how kind of you,” Aziraphale purred, sparing one last glance back at the river just beyond their fence, and the very wet ex-butler as he slunk off in his water-logged suit, personal effects to be collected at a later date. 

It was for the best, he supposed, though there was still a twinge of disappointment. Even if they hadn’t always gotten along, Aziraphale had thought he could trust Gabriel to a degree. Another lick from Crowley tugged him back to the moment. He offered him a smile, then led the way with a happy trot, ready and willing to help Crowley adjust to this new life together, on the same side of the fence. On their own side.


	5. Epilogue

Being a housecat wasn't terribly different from being an alley cat. It was safer, but he still liked to go beyond the back garden now and again. If he couldn't convince Aziraphale to come with him on a stroll through the neighbourhood, he'd bring him something. A flower, normally, but he'd bring a glittering stone or particularly nice feather if he stumbled upon them. Not the most opulent of gifts, but he'd normally get affection in return and that was really all Crowley wanted. 

For someone who'd never purred before meeting Aziraphale, he was certainly making up for lost time now. He'd figured out how to make the sound stop, but rarely tried very hard. Not when he was pressed against Aziraphale’s soft, warm self. 

He was even getting used to the human, who had indeed sussed out that he was a black cat as she didn't have any problem with that. She even seemed delighted, though it wasn't in an irritating sort of way. She just seemed to like that her little angel had brought a sweet demon home. It got easier to let her pet him as she seemed to respect that he didn't want attention from her all the time. Aziraphale was still more likely to leap into her lap and listen to her talk, but that just gave Crowley time alone with the rambunctious kittens or a chance to nap. 

One room was nothing but high windows and, once Madame Tracy had caught Crowley sleeping soundly under the warm beams, he'd been given his pick of beds. 

Alright, so _maybe_ being a housecat was _very_ different from being an alley cat. There was no need to hunt for food when it arrived at pretty prompt intervals throughout the day, treats coming whenever the kittens convinced their papa to implore their Madame for a morsel or two. It wasn't so bad, really. He still had his freedom when he wanted it, but there was always somewhere safe to come back to. 

And, to his surprise, there was eventually something else too. 

He was asleep, burrowed against Aziraphale’s side, when Madame Tracy's heels clicked on the floor. He blinked blearily, stretching and rubbing himself comfortably against white fur, when she stopped. There was something that jingled delicately in her grasp, though it was bundled up and hidden from view. He meowed questioningly as he stretched again, accepting the lick to the back of his ear by affectionately and sleepily rubbing his head against Aziraphale’s neck. “What's she up to?” 

“It appears Madame has a gift for you, my dear.” Aziraphale looked positively giddy as he sat up, urging Crowley to do the same. He received a firm stroke along his back and an extra little scritch from her long nails, watching expectantly as the source of the jingling was revealed.

“I think it’s about time we’ve made things official, don’t you?” Madame Tracy was saying as she held out a gold tag for Crowley to inspect to his liking.

It looked like Aziraphale’s, though the scrawl across the front wasn't quite as long. His nose twitched as he sniffed it and studied the bandana-like collar it was attached to. Almost like the one the nuns had given him. His front paws flexed, nails clicking on the floor as he recalled his initial reaction to being given something by humans. That instinctive, panicky fear that said nothing could go right if anything on two legs managed to corner him. He'd bitten one of the nuns when they'd tied the bandana around his throat. 

Twitchy tail twining briefly around Aziraphale’s, Crowley stepped closer and pushed his chin against Madame Tracy's fingers. 

“I figured that just in case anything were to happen while you’re out and about, that people would know you’ve got a family waiting for you to come home,” Madame Tracy said as she tied the bandana around his neck, understanding the permission for what it was. “Oh, now doesn’t that suit you, Anthony? Very rakish.” She winked at Aziraphale, beaming as her prissy white cat sighed.

Amused and maybe a little misty from the sentiment, Crowley rubbed the top of his head against her palm. Then he trotted back to Aziraphale, circling him. “You don't think it's rakish, angel?” he teased. 

“I don’t think you need further encouragement to be rakish,” he huffed, flicking his fluffy tail so it tickled Crowley’s nose on his second go-round. “ _Anthony_.”

It made him sneeze, the shaking of his fur that followed making the tag jingle. That would take some getting used to. “What, you don't like it?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Aziraphale grinned at him. “I’ll get used to it.”

“You've got plenty of time to.” Crowley rubbed their cheeks together fondly before sitting back. “Does it say Anthony and everything?” 

“It does.” Aziraphale inspected it more closely, purring happily as he read the front, then carefully turned it to read the back. “And our address on the back.”

“Guess you're officially stuck with me now, angel.”

“I must say, I wouldn’t want it any other way, you wily thing.” He touched their noses together, a contented meow escaping as Madame stroked both of their heads. 

“Welcome to the family, love,” she told Crowley, slipping them both a treat before scanning the room. “Speaking of family, best be in search of the little scoundrels. They’ve been quiet for far too long.” She winked at them both. “Must be up to something.”

“I'd be disappointed in them if they weren't.” Crowley nudged his treat towards Aziraphale, always willing to share with him. “Should probably help her find them, yeah?” 

“Oh, I know a delegation when I see one.” Aziraphale licked his lips as he polished off both treats. “It’s about time for their lessons anyway.”

Crowley had found he liked their lessons, falling easily into the habit of sprawling nearby and interrupting when it suited him. The kittens seemed to enjoy it, Adam sometimes deliberately asking questions designed to get Crowley’s attention. Both he and Aziraphale recognized the manipulation, but it was easy to give into him. It was easy to give in to all of them. 

“Time to ruin their fun, you mean.”

“Learning _is_ fun, Crowley.”

“ _Fun_ is fun.” He pushed their noses together, amused by the offended twitching of Aziraphale’s ears. “Though there might be something nice about you doing the teaching.”

“I’d say there might be something nice about you doing the listening, if you actually listened instead of arguing with me,” he teased back, overexaggerating a stretch before trotting off in search of the four troublemakers.

Crowley sauntered alongside him, the tail twining around that white fluffy one an easily developed habit. “I make lessons more interesting, and you know it.”

“Yes, but I don’t know if your ego needs me to say it.”

“Maybe my heart does,” he teased. 

“Oh…” Aziraphale gave him the fondest of looks. “Well, far be it from me to leave your heart wanting and waiting. I suppose ‘interesting’ is certainly one way to put it, my dear.”

When Madame had brought home four kittens for him to help raise, he’d already gotten a taste for interesting and new, quickly learning that change could lead to wondrous things. Having Crowley with them now was no exception. A change just as interesting and welcome as the kittens had been. The routine of his life may have been altered, but he truly wouldn’t have it any other way. Just as he couldn’t imagine life without his kittens, he could no longer imagine it without Crowley by his side, and luckily he wouldn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skim  
> Thank you for joining us for this fun little adventure! Glad we were finally able to share it with people! 🤣
> 
> Syl  
> Yes, lmao. Took us long enough! Thanks to everyone who's commented and enjoyed this!


End file.
